We Are Who We Were
by ficdirectory
Summary: AU Season 3. Santana and Blaine each experience a devastating loss and both turn to an online grief group for support, neither one suspecting the other as the person responding to their loss with so much understanding. WARNINGS: Secondary character death, illness and references to addiction. ***Nominated: Best AU Fic in the Glee Fanfic Awards 2013***
1. Theatricality

**As it says in the description, this is an AU version of events in Season 3. You will see references and events you recognize and some you won't. In this version, Sam didn't leave over the summer. He is still with the glee club. Quinn is not allowed to quit. Also, Joe Hart, Rory Flannigan and Sugar Motta are all recruited at the same time, while Blaine joined the glee club a couple weeks prior.**

On the first day of her senior year, Santana woke up at 2:30 in the morning.

She felt the usual nerves. Would her outfit be okay or totally lame? Would she have classes with anyone she knew? Could she switch out of that insane Statistics class or would she be stuck with it for the next few months? Then, reality slammed into her all over again, and Santana couldn't breathe.

Her mom. Her mom dying. Her mom having been gone for almost four months now. Santana pulled the blankets over her head, but the memories came anyway.

The first week after Santana lost her mom was a blur. She couldn't remember anything. Not the funeral, although she could recall Jean Sylvester's perfectly, and how wrong was that? Jean was her cheer coach's sister. Santana's mom was her best friend, the person who she felt the safest with, the person she looked up to the most.

Her mom was beautiful. Awesome. Perfect. Her mom was always healthy. Until she wasn't. Until she got sick. It was Santana's fifteenth birthday, which was a big deal for her family. To them, fifteen was when you became a woman. She sure hadn't felt like a woman, but it was fun to dress up and be the center of attention. When all the guests and family went home, her mom sat down with her and said there was something serious they needed to discuss.

Key words stuck in her head: mammogram, cancer, advanced.

One exchange remained as clear as yesterday in her head:

"_How long do you have?" _

"_If the treatment works, I could be here for many more years, mija. Don't count me out yet."_

Her mom had lived sixteen months, almost to the day. No matter what anyone said, sixteen months was not long enough. Santana had been there right at the end. That Sunday, they spent in bed watching television. Santana had known it was coming but not like this, not so soon. The morning had seemed so peaceful. They had watched the cooking channel for hours. She talked to her mom about prom again, and how disappointed she felt about not being crowned. About wanting one time in her life when she felt accepted. Where she was the queen.

"_I accept you…"_

It had been a ragged breath, and Santana had brushed it off.

"_Yeah, well, you have to say that. You're my mom."_

"_You are my daughter and I accept you. No matter what. I love you. No matter what."_

Santana hadn't said what she most feared. She hadn't been able to confess to her mom that she liked girls. If she said that, Santana felt sure her mom's love would disappear. So, she just pulled the blankets around them both and watched Cupcake Wars. Her mom had nodded off for a few minutes. That was becoming typical. She was so tired, she said. But then, her mom woke suddenly, looking at Santana with an urgency Santana had never seen.

"_Have I done enough for you, Santana?" _

The look in her eyes had been intense and a little scary. Maribel was a strong woman, to see her so unsure made Santana nervous.

"_Of course, Mom. What kind of question is that? You've done more for me than you ever had to. It's okay. Just rest now. It's fine. I love you."_

Her parents had taken Santana in as a five-year-old, troubled and acting out, but Santana always secretly thought it must have been Maribel's idea. Her dad was a doctor who worked all the damn time. Santana had been moved multiple times before that due to her anger issues and acting out, but the Lopezs kept her. The adoption was finalized six months later and the adjustment period had been long, but her mom had never lost patience or hope. Maribel liked to say that they were soul mates; it had just taken them a while to find each other.

Santana had said those things to set her mom's mind at ease, and obviously because she meant them. The thing was, Santana honestly had not expected her mom to close her eyes…and let go ten minutes later.

That was the exact moment when things got blurry. No one at school knew about her mom. Brittany had only been over a couple times, and Santana could always talk her into believing whatever Santana said. She and Quinn hadn't been close since freshman year, before Santana's mom's diagnosis. When it came, Santana pulled away from everyone. Brittany only stuck around because she couldn't take a clue.

Santana must've left the room so her dad could come in. She remembered staring at the screen of her laptop in her room and slowly typing in the words _grief_, _teen_, and _support_. She searched, blindly clicking on the first link that appeared. She created a screen name: _HijaSinMadre _- Spanish for motherless daughter - and made a post the way her mom taught her. No identifying information. No picture. Nothing. She posted in the teen room, unable to go in the room labeled Motherless Children despite her chosen name.

**Just Lost Mom**

_My mom just died and I'm numb. No one knew she was sick, so there's no one to call. I don't know what to do. _

Posted on 5/15/11, 2:43 p.m.

Through a haze, Santana clicked refresh over and over, for hours, waiting for someone to reply. It didn't take her long to realize not many people posted here. Instead of wallowing, Santana thought of her mom. What would she have done? She would have reached out, right? So, Santana replied to every post, saying what she wished someone would say to her. No one wrote back, but at least it filled time.

A week later, though, there was a new post. She sat in front of the computer, dressed head to toe in black, fresh from her mom's funeral.

**New Here**

_This is my first post here. I recently lost my brother. It was quite sudden. We were not close but I feel like I should feel something. Instead, I just feel empty. Is this normal? Please write back and tell me how horrible this is._

Posted on: 5/22/11, 5:49 p.m.

Santana hit reply. People had reached out to her but it had taken a couple days. A couple awful, excruciating, hellish days when she felt completely alone. She didn't want anyone else feeling like that.

**Reply #1**

_I lost my mom one week ago today. She was my best friend and I feel empty, too. It is normal, not horrible. Give yourself a break. Write if you need something._

Posted on: 5/22/11, 6:25 p.m.

When Santana finally stopped crying and looked at the clock, it was 5:30 a.m. Three hours wasn't so bad. And 5:30 was at least a semi-normal time to get up and start getting ready for the day. She checked her text messages, deleting all the Twitter updates from Kim Kardashian, Snooki and Pretty Little Liars. She didn't even know why she kept the cell notice on those anymore. It wasn't like she actually cared about that shit anymore.

She hit delete very carefully, getting rid of Brittany asking what Santana was wearing today, and Quinn's status update about how much it sucked that school was starting. She narrowed her eyes at the text message. From Berry. What the hell did she want?

_Did you hear? Mr. Schuester got fired for leaving us unsupervised in New York. It's like Mr. Ryerson all over again except this time I have nothing to do with it, I swear. I think Coach Sylvester is behind it, actually. I promise you guys, that if no one steps in as leader, I will. You can count on me. Sincerely, Rachel Berry._

Santana fell back onto the bed, deleting the ridiculously long text from Rachel, and focusing on the several that remained. Every single text from her mom. She had them on lockdown, so she couldn't accidentally delete them. The top one was clearly in view:

_Love you. Love, Mom._

She forced herself up, knowing her dad was already up and working on his laptop. They barely spoke anymore. Maribel existed between them - a lump in both of their throats.

"Morning," she said.

Her only answer was the continued clicking of keys as her dad typed.

Santana sighed, pouring herself a bowl of cereal and eating without tasting anything. She hadn't thought it was possible hours ago, but it turned out, the day could always get worse.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, transferring to McKinley from Dalton was not the worst thing in the world. Yes, Blaine had friends there whom he would miss. But considering everything that had gone on in the past four months, it really was for the best. At least, that's what Blaine told himself as he got up on Tuesday morning and stopped suddenly at the thought that he had absolutely no idea what to wear.

He could text Kurt, but he and Kurt weren't technically speaking. Still, when in doubt, Blaine always deferred to those who knew better. He picked up his phone, deleting texts he didn't want and skimming what was left. He noticed a Facebook message and clicked on it.

Rachel says: _Hello, Blaine! I just wanted to send out an official welcome to McKinley. Don't be nervous. Santana and Dave Karofsky are still in charge of the BullyWhips, not that I personally take much comfort in that, given they basically did it to be voted Prom King and Queen, but it's better than nothing. If you need anything. (ANYTHING.) Let me know. And if you would rather be escorted to class by someone who knows you, and not someone who has attacked your boyfriend or threatened me in her native tongue, I'd be pleased to accompany you. I'm sorry you and Kurt are on the rocks. By the way, you should definitely sign up for Glee Club this year. We lost Lauren Zizes and are one voice short. Between you and me, you'd be an easy choice and would add so much talent to our already talented group. Looking forward to seeing you. Sincerely, Rachel Berry_

_PS I just heard a vicious rumor that Mr. Schuester has been fired. If that is confirmed, I have promised the club that I will take over in his absence. If this happens, I will accept you into Glee, no questions asked. Just audition and you're in. We've always had an open-door policy…except when Mr. Schuester denied Becky Jackson a place because we were too close to Nationals. Anyway, if it's up to me, you are in._

He hit reply and asked for her phone number. When it came through within seconds, Blaine called her.

"Hi, Rachel. Thanks for the welcome message."

"You're welcome. Anything I can do to help a fellow McKinley student. Are you excited? Oh, did you hear about Mr. Schuester?" Rachel insisted, her voice suddenly intense.

Blaine grimaced. "Until it's confirmed, I'm going to disregard it if that's all right. Though I will say, if he left you guys without a chaperone for that many hours, there should be consequences. Anyway, I just had a question, if you don't mind?"

"Of course not," Rachel answered. She remained collected, composed and polite. He knew what to expect from her.

Blaine breathed easier, despite hearing the whir of some kind of equipment in the background. Maybe a juicer. "It's just that…I'm used to wearing a uniform, and I'd like to fit in on my first day."

"Oh, say no more!" Rachel interjected. "I'd love to help! Get on Skype and show me your options," she commanded and then hung up abruptly.

Blaine blinked away his confusion and did as she told him, gathering several shirts, pants, shoes and bowties and calling Rachel on the Skype name she had given him. In less than ten minutes, her decisive nature helped him immensely when she picked out the black shirt, red pants, which he rolled past the ankles and a very particular bowtie. Blaine, though, insisted on loafers without socks.

He called her back once he was dressed and she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. His phone buzzed with an incoming text. _Breakfast_, it read, from his mother.

"Rachel? I have to go. Thank you so much for your help. I'll see you later," he said, waving at the screen and ending the call.

Then, he steeled himself and walked downstairs for breakfast. The memory stole over him like a suffocating blanket. Last May, on a morning just like this.

"_Blaine, go wake your brother_."

He hadn't protested. He hadn't known he should protest such a simple thing. He had done it all the time. Cooper habitually slept late. He did other things he should not have done, but his parents always looked the other way. They called Cooper eccentric and an artist. When Blaine voiced his concerns, his parents always brushed them off.

"_Worry about yourself, Blaine," _his father used to say. _"Cooper's just fine. You, on the other hand…" _and he would let the sentence hang in a way that Blaine understood.

Despite doing everything his parents ever asked of him - from Boy Scout camp to team sports - the truth remained. Cooper was the child they planned for from the first - the one who could do no wrong - while Blaine - born eight years later - had been an accident. As such, no matter how he tried, he could not seem to satisfy his father.

So, when they asked him to do that one simple thing, Blaine had, without question. He had walked up the stairs and down the hall. He had turned left instead of going straight ahead to his own room. He knocked briskly and then pushed the door open, walking inside without hesitation. He had heard Coop moving around in here not thirty minutes ago, so Blaine had expected him downstairs, but he hadn't shown up.

He had not expected to find his brother slouched against the wall strangely. His color was off. There was a rash on his face. Blaine was afraid to touch him. Afraid to speak, so he had simply backed out of the room and retreated down the stairs, pale and shaking. His parents called 911. His parents told the church, their coworkers, Dalton, everyone who mattered that Coop's death was due to respiratory arrest. They used words like sudden and unexpected. They never uttered the truth, so Blaine found he wasn't able to either. Everyone who mattered called Coop's death a tragedy. But the truth came to Blaine each night as he slept. He had nightmares and sleepwalked, so he began to wedge a chair beneath his bedroom door, terrified of waking up and finding himself in his brother's room again.

Blaine shook his head, taking a deep breath and willing calmness into his body and mind. If he wanted to survive, he had to keep the mask in place. He had to keep pretending. So, he greeted his parents with a practiced smile and the appropriate response when his mother asked if he was excited to start school at McKinley. There was no mention of why he needed to transfer schools so suddenly. No mention of how much money it actually cost for an ambulance, or resuscitative efforts, for a wake, or a funeral. His family still managed to project the appearance of wealth, but they had no money for the steep tuition at Dalton.

Still Blaine smiled. "Of course. I couldn't be more excited," he said, and took a bite of oatmeal.

* * *

School had been in session for two weeks when Santana's world was flipped on its head again. Sure, it hadn't been fun watching Berry get her jollies from telling all of them what to do, but it kept her busy, and anything that kept Santana out of her empty house was something she welcomed. The last thing she expected was to see Coach Sylvester standing in the glee classroom, in a new tracksuit with a bitchy expression.

The seats were all filled - Lauren was missing, but three new kids and Blaine seemed to have popped up from nowhere - and Santana crossed her arms defensively. She glared at the whiteboard behind Coach and read what she had scrawled there:

**RULES**:

Effective 9/20/11-whenever I decide

1. Eight glasses of water will be consumed daily. No exceptions.

2. No milk. Ever. It makes you mucousy.

3. No gum.

4. No yelling (except by me.)

5. Proper warm-ups done before singing a single note.

6. No whining.

"Sandbags, nice of you to join us. Take a seat and listen up. New Directions doesn't exist-"

"Why?" Artie interrupted, his hand raised out of habit. "Where's Mr. Schue?"

"Well, Wheels, it turns out that I have some pull at the top and those _at _the top didn't look too kindly on educators and/or chaperones leaving a dozen high school kids unsupervised in New York City for an undetermined number of hours. What matters? He's not in charge now. I am. As I was saying, New Directions doesn't exist. It's a stupid name, and I won't stand for stupidity in my glee club. This group of misfit, mouth breathers will now go by a name that should be familiar to some of you: Sue's Kids. Read the rules and follow them or you will no longer be welcomed into my world of champions." Sue insisted, her voice low. "Now, as you can see, I've brought Q back from the fraying edge of high school society. She's washed her ungodly pink hair and stopped that nasty smoking habit. Which reminds me, Sandbags, no more cigars! That's an order!"

Santana jerked her head up, surprised to be called out when she had yet to speak a single word. The reference brought her back to right after her mom died. Rachel had complimented her voice, and asked where she got her rasp. Coach Sue apparently still wasn't above bugging the classroom for hot gossip or blackmail worthy material.

"In addition to Q, this is Jar Jar Binks, a sophomore from the Jesus Loves Me home school taught by his mommy. We also have Irish, a freshman from somewhere uninteresting, and who is completely unintelligible most of the time. Saccharine Moneypants, who has a rich daddy and not a speck of singing talent. And last but not least, Young Burt Reynolds, with enough gel in his hair to give a home to Will Schuester's collection of small sulfurous egg-laying birds."

"What the hell is she talking about?" Santana insisted under her breath to Sam, who sat nearby. "Who are they?"

"Joseph Hart, Rory Flannigan and Sugar Motta. Oh, and Blaine," he supplied.

Santana scoffed. Blaine's wasn't a new face, so why was Coach acting like it? Maybe because he was new to her. But all the rest of them knew him, or had gotten to know him in the past two weeks. He was okay. Nobody she really wanted to hang around, but not a total loser, either.

"We will rehearse here, twice a week. Tuesdays 3 to 5 p.m. and Thursdays 7 to 9 p.m. Anyone who is late will be hobbled. Sandbags, you got lucky today."

Santana kept her expression blank.

"Coach Sue?" Mercedes asked, sounding an awful lot like a suck-up.

"Yes, Aretha? What's your question?"

"I thought you always said you hated the arts," she said, her tone honestly confused. "Why are you trying to help us?"

Smiling in a condescending way Santana hated, Coach Sue answered in a strangely gentle voice, "I don't hate the arts. I just hate Will. And since my best Cheerios are choosing to forfeit this season, I have no chance at another championship, and kids? I need another trophy."

"Do you know anything about leading a glee club?" Kurt asked bravely.

"Sweet Porcelain," Sue sighed. "I've done extensive research, and more than that, I know how to make champions, through a tested combination of terror and competition." With that, she turned and wiped the board clean. In its place, in red marker, Sue wrote: **THEATRICALITY**.

"Your first assignment is this. In my hand, I have a list of exactly sixteen songs. It's first come, first served. You will select a song, and you have until Thursday to make it perfect enough to perform for me and your peers. You will be ranked each week, best to worst, based on vocal performance, ability to embrace the theme, and your ability to impress me. And, you'll be competing for the fifteen available solos in Sectionals, Regionals and Nationals. Go!"

For a minute, everyone just sat, and then Berry roared to life, rushing down to the list and scribbling her name beside a song and saying, "yes!" under her breath. The rest of the class followed, with Santana among them. The choices were ridiculous, but Santana managed to pick one that was less hideous than the rest.

"Dancing Asian and Cannon Fodder!" Coach Sue exclaimed, addressing Mike and Brittany, and making them all jump. "You will be our choreographers. It's up to you to make this group look good. Understood? Bossy Midget!" Sue barked, this time singling out Berry. "You will teach Saccharine Moneypants how to carry a tune appropriately. If any of your subjects fail, so will you."

Santana closed her eyes. In spite of all this, she found herself grateful to be kept busy. If she was busy with glee, she didn't have to think. Not thinking was always preferable to thinking.

For the rest of the two hours, Coach ran them ragged, warming up for a half hour straight and then starting to learn the five songs that she had selected for Sectionals. They had no time to waste.

* * *

Blaine was rushing to finish his homework. It was Wednesday night and he absolutely could not concentrate. His parents had gone to the cemetery to lay flowers and talk to Coop. It was his birthday. Blaine had apparently caused quite a scene by refusing to go along. The truth was, he couldn't. He had an overwhelming amount of homework to get done, and his song to perform successfully for Sue's Kids. Luckily, he had at least a passing familiarity with it. That would be his strategy. Never get in over his head. Always pick something he was moderately familiar with. Also, he would be sure to switch it up from week to week so Coach Sue wouldn't get bored.

He made sure he knew all the lyrics, that he had the song down forward and backward. Then, he looked through his closet. He pulled up the corresponding music video and eyed the fashion as Kurt might. Which outfit could he emulate? Blaine eventually settled on one, and a pair of sunglasses.

Leaving his homework unfinished and feeling completely overwhelmed by all the changes happening around him lately, Blaine glanced through his favorites, scrolling all the way to the bottom, where he spotted the bereavement group he had found immediately after losing Coop. He had completely forgotten about it, what with McKinley and Coach Sue and avoiding Finn's total disgust for him.

He stopped at the post labeled **New Here** by CoopsBro and opened it. He stared, uncomprehending at his original post, time-stamped less than eight hours after he had found his brother. There was one new reply, made 36 minutes after the original. Blaine scanned it, feeling touched, and selecting the personal message option.

_Dear HijaSinMadre,_

_Thank you for your understanding response. Your words were exactly what I needed, not to be placated, but to know the truth from someone who is where I am. Things have been busy lately and I honestly forgot about making that post, but the loss is starting to hit me again. My parents are at the cemetery tonight. I said I didn't want to go and they reacted badly. I just can't do that. Not yet. I know I should. I just can't. Anyway, enough about me. How are you? I am very sorry to hear about the loss of your mom. I am close to mine, as well, and I can't imagine losing her. If you need anything, don't be afraid to reach out. _

_PS The room isn't very active, I noticed. I hope you don't mind a personal message instead. _

_CoopsBro_

* * *

Santana woke like clockwork at 2:30 a.m. Thursday morning. Her mom had been gone exactly four months and one week. She felt beneath her mattress and found the journal she and her mom kept for the last year of her life. It was full of advice and pages labeled: DO NOT READ UNTIL YOUR WEDDING. DO NOT READ UNTIL AGE 35. DO NOT READ UNTIL YOUR FIRST CHILD COMES INTO YOUR LIFE. But most were free to be read. Most were spotted with tears stains already. She flipped to a page idly, and read:

_Dear Santana,_

_I remember when you first came to us. When the social worker dropped you off. I had gotten a call over the weekend. Sunday night, really. You would arrive Monday morning. She had a little girl, a 5-year-old who had been removed from the custody of her grandmother indefinitely and needed a home. I remember when I met you. How you refused to answer to your name. Do you remember that? Your abuela had convinced you your name was not Santana, but something else. Something I will not write, because it isn't who you are. You demanded to be called this, though, and would not answer to Santana. In fact, if Daddy or I called you that, you screamed in a panic. I tried calling you a shortened form of your preferred name, but that didn't fit you, either. It didn't take long before I was at a loss and heartbroken watching you lash out and scream, thinking because we used your real name, we meant to hurt you. Finally, I realized that I had to think like a child, and I came up with something you could earn each time you did something good. Do you remember that old paper chain that we hung on your bedroom door? Every time you listened and came to me the first time I called you Santana, I gave you a paper ring to add to the chain. When it got long enough, I used to find you asleep on the floor holding onto one of the paper rings so tightly. It was like you were clinging to these good things. It warmed my heart and you have come so far. I am so proud of you. Becoming your mom was the best day of my life and I love you more now than ever before. When I die, I promise to watch over you. I will always be with you. I love you. Love, Mom._

The emptiness Santana felt inside was like a hole. She cried for the loss. For every milestone her mom would miss. For the fact that Santana really only got to know her mom for ten years of the 53 her mom lived. It was like the biggest injustice. The minutes melted into an hour and then two. When her thoughts turned to school, Santana moaned. Her song choice might have been a more appropriate choice than she thought. Santana was nowhere near ready for her performance, though, and Coach Sue would kill her for sure. So she forced herself out of bed and to the laptop on her desk.

She had every intention of looking up lyrics to her song, but got sidetracked, as usual, by the grief group. She logged in and saw she had several PMs. She clicked through them, not having the strength to be everything for everyone. She hurt, too, damn it. Didn't that matter? Didn't anyone care? Apparently not. They all freakin' wanted her to give of herself, and she got that teenagers were selfish, but seriously. Santana couldn't take this.

Taking a deep breath, Santana forced herself to click on the last message instead of just deleting it like her gut wanted her to. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. It was from CoopsBro, the guy who lost his brother a week after she lost her mom. Just when she was about to lose hope, this guy showed up after not being there for all this time. In all the months she'd been there, not one of the private messages she had received had begun with the words "Thank you…" and none of them asked about how she was coping with her own loss…

Quickly, she typed out a response:

_Dear CB,_

_So many people suffer and need others but so few offer support in return. So, thanks. It means a ton. Busy is an understatement. You're in high school, too, right? It says you're 16. Too much homework, and after school crap and not enough hours in the day, right? OMG I know. I am not ready to visit my mom's grave either. Your parents should know that everyone heals at their own speed. You're not wrong to want to take it slow. My dad goes to the cemetery all the time. The rest of the time, he ignores me. It sucks to be alone. I have to get going. Random question. If you could visit a medium, would you? (Like, a legitimate one who could connect with your brother, not some crazy psycho.) Gotta go. This day is gonna suck, but thanks for making it suck a little less. HSM._

Taking a deep breath, Santana pulled up her song lyrics and forced herself to sing them, to feel them. She could now, but there was no guaranteeing that she could do it tonight. She'd rehearsed with the jazz band once, and she hoped it was enough to place somewhat high on Coach's list of solo hopefuls. Santana used to care about stuff like that. Now, it was just something to occupy her day.

The day passed in an agonizing slowness. She had to listen to Berry and Hummel complain about the fact that they hadn't researched their college of choice thoroughly enough and were now being forced to consider other options. She cringed imagining the 7 pm glee rehearsal.

When the time came, Santana was exhausted and more than a little freaked out at the thought that she had completely missed the theatrical aspect of the assignment. Great. Her only hope now was that the rest failed just as spectacularly as she was about to.

She had to admit, though, it was sort of fun watching the rest of them take on these dramatic songs. Even with Coach Sue replacing Mr. Schue, glee still pretty much was the best part of her day. Where else could she watch Finn humiliate himself, while Mike stole the show, both singing different Boy George songs. Mike danced his way through, wearing plenty of wanky androgynous makeup while Finn just stood there and fumbled his way through, adding nothing of creative or interesting value whatsoever.

Sam and Artie had each picked a Lady Gaga song. Sam didn't show up in costume, but did a kick ass acoustic cover of his song, while Artie cranked his version up a notch accompanied by Tina on piano. Plus, he managed to make a giant egg that somehow encased himself and his chair completely and sang from inside it.

Fate would have it that both she and Brittany picked the two Florence and the Machine songs. Brittany showed up in a wolf costume and stalked the classroom like a carnivore during her number. Even under all that fur, Santana was turned on, so she averted her eyes. Her own performance was not nearly as heavy in the drama department. In fact, it might have rivaled Finn's as the most boring, up to that point. She just sat on a stool and sang, her face blank and her mind somewhere else. The emotion she had conjured this morning seemed nowhere near available.

The Rihanna songs were a no-brainer, because while Berry _tried _to transform Sugar into a respectable singer, her song was terrible, though her commitment to it was pretty awesome. Mercedes totally slayed her own song, hitting all the notes, and putting all the feeling into her song that the others were lacking. It was amazing. They all stood up to clap, stunned when Coach Sue told them to sit their cans down and wait until everyone was finished.

Hummel and Berry somehow ended up with the two Adam Lambert songs. Hummel strutted up to the front wearing some kind of fedora with a feather, a boa and a raccoon tail along with Newton-John tight pants and a baggy white shirt. He killed the song. Berry did okay, too, and it was obvious she had help dressing herself, because she never came in looking that good in high boots and a short dress and sunglasses.

Puck and Rory had the Elvis songs. Which meant, Puck got to come, basically dressed like himself and act like himself and Rory surprised everyone with his sweet, smooth take on a classic from The King.

Joe and Tina got the songs by Bowie. Joe sounded timid and played his guitar like a shield, while Tina kicked her song in the balls. It was incredible. She even caught Coach Sue jotting down a note that said _Cohen-Loser?_

Finally, the last artist's songs were featured: Katy Perry. Sung by whoever was left, which turned out to be Blaine in a stupid red shirt and glasses. He just sat at the piano and played it. No bells and whistles. Nothing theatrical at all. But, it turned out, at least Blaine had tried. Quinn simply went up to the front of the room, stood in front of them and sang her song, which seemed to consist of one note, with no emotion whatsoever.

"Okay. Those of you whose name I call first. You are in the sub-basement. No chance at solos this week. What you didn't know ahead of time was that these battles were what I like to call heats. Because those of you who sang songs by the same artist were competing against each other. One of you will move on. One will lose. Of those moving on, I will pick the winner from the top eight of you. In the sub-basement this week are: Marvelous Marvin, Trouty Mouth, Sandbags, Saccharine Moneypants, Bossy Midget, Stupid Haircut, Jar Jar Binks and Q.

"Which means I have the unenviable task of choosing between The Dancing Asian, Wheels, Cannon Fodder, Aretha, Porcelain, Irish, Cohen-Loser and Young Burt Reynolds for the winner…." she hesitated, drawing out the suspense like she always did at cheer competitions. "But I must give credit where credit is due and reward Porcelain for his utter and complete grasp on the theme of Theatricality as well as a performance that paralyzed my ever-present rage and replaced it with a weird emotion…kinda like enjoyment. Congratulations, Porcelain. Your name is on the list as a possible candidate for a solo in the future. Now if you would kindly sweep up your downy pink feathers before my allergies kick in. You're all excused. Please pick up your comment cards on the way out." Coach Sue said suddenly, turning on her heel and walking out of the room.

Santana didn't wait. She stood quickly and made her way to the piano where a stack of cards sat. Flipping through them, Santana was vaguely surprised to find one labeled with her own first name, not Sandbags, as she had come to be known:

_Your performance made me want to deny every emotion I've ever had. For the love of Ann Coulter, please get real. Make me feel something. You have a voice. Use it. Convince me next time, Santana. Get your name on that list._

Santana's breath caught in her throat. Then she crumpled the note card in her fist, rolled her eyes and tossed it in the trash.

**Track Listing for Theatricality Week:**

**Artie Abrams - Paparazzi by Lady Gaga**

**Blaine Anderson - Hot & Cold by Katy Perry**

**Rachel Berry - Pick U Up by Adam Lambert**

**Mike Chang - Do You Really Want To Hurt Me by Boy George**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - Life on Mars by David Bowie**

**Sam Evans - Alejandro by Lady Gaga**

**Quinn Fabray - California Girls by Katy Perry**

**Rory Flannigan - Suspicious Minds by Elvis Presley**

**Joe Hart - Heroes by David Bowie**

**Finn Hudson - Karma Chameleon by Boy George**

**Kurt Hummel - Fever by Adam Lambert**

**Mercedes Jones - California King Bed by Rihanna**

**Santana Lopez - Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine**

**Sugar Motta - Rude Boy by Rihanna**

**Brittany Pierce - Howl by Florence and the Machine**

**Noah Puckerman - Jailhouse Rock by Elvis Presley**


	2. Individuality

Blaine stared at his comment card for a long time, vowing to take in all the constructive criticism Ms. Sylvester had to offer. He carried it around in his pocket, hoping that would help him remember the lessons he needed to take to heart. He had it all but memorized by now:

_You can't be theatrical by singing notes on a page and hoping that osmosis via YouTube does the trick. You sang the notes - they were all accurate - but I was bored. Likewise, you can't put on a costume and hope it makes you dramatic. A costume isn't a costume if you use it to hide. Own your work, don't let it own you. Next time, do better, and not because I'm asking you to. Do better because you can._

Over the next week, he was buried in homework. True, Dalton had high standards, but as it turned out, so did McKinley. Either that or his ability to concentrate was totally gone. Even though Ms. Sylvester's words about owning his work echoed in his mind, it was pointless to compare and contrast events in two separate novels. His phone buzzed in his pocket and Blaine pulled it out, and stared at the screen, the string of numbers telling him it was a social network update of some kind. He hoped it was from Wes, David or Thad. Any of the Warblers. He missed them, and they _got _him in a way none of the McKinley students seemed to.

_Wes Warbler's status:_

_We, the Dalton Academy Warblers would like to give a warm welcome to our new lead vocalist, Sebastian Smythe. _

Blaine's heart sank. They didn't need him anymore. Clearly, he wasn't needed here either. He wondered about Sebastian. Was he an actor on small-screen commercials? Did his parents dote on him? Did he have a younger brother? Blaine shook his head, thinking of his psychology class. He was projecting now and that wouldn't do anyone any good.

To distract himself, he bypassed the online traps that used up his time and instead pulled up the bereavement site. Letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Blaine read the only message present, written by the only person who had reached out to him. He read the response carefully and then began his reply:

_Dear HSM,_

_You're welcome. I like your abbreviation, though, I admit, I think of High School Musical without fail. I love Zac Efron, so it's all positive association for me. Anyway, everyone deserves support, especially those who are selfless. Yes, I'm in high school. It's very busy, with classes and extra-curricular activities there is barely time for anything else. Thank you for understanding my reluctance. You seem very honest, so maybe I can be honest in return. If I had my way, I wouldn't ever to my brother's grave. It would make the loss more real. Do you know what I mean? It does suck to be alone. I'm sorry your dad can't be there for you. To answer your question (maybe too honestly?) I wouldn't want any further contact with my brother through a medium. I don't feel like going into detail, except to say that I am so angry with him that it would not do me any good. Though I can appreciate you wanting contact with your mother. I would definitely want to contact my best friend, but my brother was not that to me. Do you think, that if someone terrifies you in life, it continues after they're gone? I'm beginning to think that's true… _

_CB_

Blaine hit send, feeling like he could finally breathe. His contact with this person was literally the only time he was able to speak about his loss. Otherwise, he was left trying to cope when he was alone, and pretend all the rest of the time. Sometimes, when no one was around, he would pull up one of Coop's commercials and watch it. He rarely got more than a few seconds in, because Coop just looked so terrible. It made Blaine want to obliterate Coop's room, but he held back, mostly because while he was upstairs watching commercials, his parents were downstairs in the living room, crying quietly, and watching old home videos.

On now was the one where Blaine was brought home from the hospital. Blaine knew it by memory because he used to love watching it, too. Blaine was a February baby, but eight-year-old Coop, still believed that baby Blaine was a gift from Santa because Coop had been "amazing this year, not just good," and he "really wanted a baby brother, more than anything."

The words rolled around in Blaine's mind like loose change tossing and turning. _If Coop wanted a baby brother so much, why the hell would he leave me like this?_ It wasn't right. And it wasn't an accident or a new thing, or solely a medical condition that made Coop leave. It was the secret that he wasn't supposed to talk about. Because what would the neighbors think? What would the people at church think? What would his mom and dad's coworkers think if they knew that Coop… The words stuck in Blaine's throat but the proof had been right there in Coop's room the morning Blaine found him.

Coop's room had once been full of Little League trophies, drama awards and every kind of art project. At Blaine's last look, that day, it had been trashed. Clothes everywhere. Food everywhere. Junk everywhere. Every piece of art was gone. Everything of value was missing. Instead, his room was piled high as a hoarders with inexpensive garage sale items. Ugly lawn ornaments and storage bins stacked high as the ceiling overflowing with old video game systems, DVDs, and cheap wall art. Coop had told them all the stuff was for a new art project, and warned them not to go in there. They were used to the warnings. It was all within normal limits for Coop, except that Coop, himself, was just…not there.

Whenever Blaine tried to bring it up to his parents, they would brush him off. When Coop asked Blaine directly to start keeping mundane secrets from their parents, Blaine couldn't stay silent anymore. Blaine gave Coop an ultimatum. Tell mom by the following day, or Blaine would. Well, Coop hadn't said anything, and Blaine kept his word. He had gone to their mother, who was more likely to listen instead of yelling like their dad.

"_Cooper says he's just tired. He's working long hours, you know. That last commercial was pretty intense. They worked all the actors hard, but Cooper was the star, so they needed him the most. He's fine, honey. Don't worry."_

Hours later, Blaine was home on winter holiday break from Dalton, when Coop came in without knocking. He closed the door soundlessly behind him and then crossed the room to Blaine. He hadn't done anything, just stared up at Coop from his seat at the desk. The air felt heavy with something. Coop's muscles were taut and Blaine was more than a little afraid that Coop might hit him. Instead, he just started ranting in a whisper:

"_Nice to know I'll never be able to trust you again! You're my brother, Blaine! You're supposed to have my back. I specifically asked you not to say anything to Mom and Dad and then you did. What else do you go behind my back about? So, I'm tired! So, I'm having financial problems! Bottom line? I am an adult and it's none of their business and it's none of yours either!"_

"_But you're in their house," _Blaine had protested weakly. _"I'm not an adult and you're around me-" _

Coop had cut him off, silencing him completely with a hand around his neck, squeezing. It was subtle, but effective, letting Blaine know Coop had all the power.

"_You're never around, so who are you to come in out of nowhere and make that kind of judgment of me? No one believes you because nothing is wrong. You're just looking for attention. And hey, newsflash, Blainey? If Mom and Dad don't believe you, it isn't true. Fact number one in the Anderson family. Get used to it." _Coop had let him go then, leaving Blaine gasping.

Coop had turned and walked out of the room, leaving Blaine to cover the bruises and try to ignore the fact that as crazy as things got, Coop had never once laid a hand on him. Less than five months later, Blaine had found Coop in his room, not breathing.

Instead of grieving, Blaine blamed. Mostly, he blamed himself, even though he was of the opinion there was nothing anyone could do for Coop unless he admitted he needed help. Even though he didn't have the power to change Coop's mind, Blaine constantly wondered how he could have worded things more strongly with his mother so she would understand that Coop spending money he didn't have on strange jewelry was a red flag. Blaine was sixteen, and no, he hadn't been home that often, but in a way that gave him objectivity that his parents hadn't possessed. If he had just been able to convey to his mother how worried he was, maybe none of this would've happened. Maybe he would've gotten help.

He wondered if his online friend knew what the guilt was like. Neither had asked details about the other's loss and that was how Blaine preferred it. It didn't stop him from wondering, though, if anyone, anywhere, knew what it was like to wish like hell that someone would believe you when you said something was wrong. When Blaine felt it in his gut. He saw it in Coop's empty eyes.

Swallowing back the feelings, Blaine put on his I-Pod and played every song that was unlike Coop, so that Blaine could battle the darkness.

* * *

Santana was curled in bed, despite it being late afternoon. She found she slept best during the day. Naps were more doable than sleeping at night. Nightmares were less likely for some reason and less nightmares was always a good thing.

"Hey," a vaguely familiar voice said, scaring the shit out of Santana.

She peeked out from beneath the covers and glared at Britt, who stood in the middle of her room like they'd agreed for her to come over. "What are you doing here?" Santana asked, clearing her throat. She narrowed her eyes. "How did you get in here?"

"It was open. Your house is kinda messy," Brittany observed. "Hey what did your comment card from Coach Sue say? Mine said great job embracing the theme and being brave, but that I have to practice to get my voice up to my dancing skill level," Brittany beamed, proud of herself.

"Did you need something?" Santana asked impatiently.

"Kurt's running for class president and I wanted to surprise him with this campaign poster, but I wanted you to see it first, since we show each other everything first," Brittany explained, making Santana's head spin. Were the student elections starting already? But she nodded and waited for Brittany to unroll what she held.

When Santana saw it, she cringed inside. Hummel was as gay as she was and if Brittany - as well intentioned as she was - had made _Santana _a campaign poster with a rainbow and a unicorn front and center, she would be pissed.

"What do you think?" Brittany pressed.

"I think… Did you ever think about doing something more subtle? Maybe lose the pink, the unicorn and the rainbow?" Santana asked innocently.

"Well, then all that would be left is Kurt's face… Wait. You don't like it," Brittany said, her face falling. "I do, though!" she said, like they'd been in the middle of an argument on it all along. "This is who Kurt is. Special and magical like a unicorn and he should embrace what makes him special, right?"

"Look, you know what, Brittany? Do what you want," Santana snapped, hoping the tone would be enough to drive her away. Instead, she felt Brittany shift on the bed and start clicking on Santana's laptop.

"What's _Hope & Healing_? Brittany asked.

Santana's heart sank. She left the grief group site open, intending to write back to CB but she had fallen asleep before she could. Thank God, she had navigated away from the message itself.

"Is that like online dating?"

Even though Brittany looked hurt, Santana confirmed her guess. "Yeah, it is. I guess I just wanted to try something new."

"You need to be careful, though. People lie on these places all the time. I saw it on _Misrepresentation & Malice,_" Brittany said seriously.

"What the hell is that?" Santana scoffed around her heart, which had taken up residence in her throat at Britt's protectiveness. God, she sounded just like Mom right now.

"One of those survival shows. In case someone _does _lie and you don't know it, always tell someone where you'll be. Plus you should always wear a mask so they don't know who you are and carry a hammer, because it can be used as a tool or a weapon."

"Thanks," Santana managed.

"I gotta go anyway. I'm meeting Mike and we're going over stuff for Sectionals. Dance stuff," she added unnecessarily.

When Brittany left, Santana sighed and pulled her computer closer to her, opening up CB's message. She read it again, intrigued by the anger that was obviously just below the surface. CB was polite, but she liked the anger she sensed even better than the nice person. Anger was real. Not the smoke screen she'd been getting up to this point, though she did understand the need to be cautious, masks and hammers or not.

_Hey CB,_

_High School Musical. Are you serious right now? That's offensive. Totally kidding. It's cool, though I'm not a Zac fan. I saw him in another role first, and now I can't get past it. Every time I think of him, he looks like this huge dork in my mind. I did love the movie, though, believe it or not. A friend tried to teach me all the dance moves to the final song. They nailed the moves and I just wailed on the vocals. Oh my God, so embarrassing. I was like, 11 years old. ANYWAY, I just woke up. Sleeping weird hours now, because I'm always up at 2:30 every morning. It's gross. You seem pretty pissed at your brother. Supposedly, that's one of the stages of grief. The second. So, that means you're one ahead of me. I still can't believe my mom is gone. I totally understand the desire to keep the loss at arm's length for as long as possible. And as long as this place is doubling as a Secret Sharing Circle of Honesty or some shit, I'm gonna keep it real honest. I think things terrify you in real life because people screw up. But they keep messing with your head only if you allow them to do it. You can't live scared all your life, CB. I mean, I guess you COULD, but would you want to? Dreaming of the loss is one thing. Nightmares. I get that. But don't let whatever your brother did in life keep haunting you now that he's gone. If you need to talk, I'm here. But for real talking, none of your politesse crap. HSM._

_P.S. This is not for the pity factor, but just so you don't think I'm some ridiculous Disney fanatic. My screen name actually translates to motherless child. _

* * *

Blaine didn't always, but when he received a reply from HSM, he printed it and folded it into a tiny square, tucking it into his pocket beside Ms. Sylvester's first critique. Between the two of them, they always managed to say exactly what Blaine needed to hear. That reminded him. He needed an opportunity to speak with Ms. Sylvester privately, so he moved quickly when the dismissal bell rang Tuesday afternoon. He arrived in the glee classroom out of breath.

"Ms. Sylvester?" Blaine managed.

She turned, smiling at him, her eyes nearly crossed in pleasure. "Sounds so _presidential _when you say it like that…" she mused. "What do you need, Young Burt Reynolds?"

Blaine pressed his lips together, drawing courage from HSM's letter, from their honesty, he addressed her. "I need you to use my name," he said, looking her in the eye. "I've only been a student here for four weeks, and you've only been glee director for one, but I've gotten the opportunity to see how you lead. You command respect and I like that. I'd also like to offer, though, that you might get more champion-like behavior out of us if _we_ felt respected."

Pausing, Blaine watched Ms. Sylvester, who stared back, but seemed to be listening.

"What's your name again?" she asked noncommittally.

"Blaine Anderson," he supplied, extending a hand, as if in introduction.

"Congratulations, Blaine. You've proven you can take a critique," Ms. Sylvester said blandly, walking around him and to the hall with a bullhorn, calling all the students by first name, not nickname. Blaine shook his head, dropping his outstretched hand. He tried to make sense of what he'd just been told about taking a critique. Maybe she meant it in regard to ownership? But more than that, Ms. Sylvester had listened to him, and that meant a great deal.

"Come on! Get your theatrical selves in here so I can wipe that lesson from your mind _entirely_! It's a new week, people! That means, a new theme and new ways for me to become positively _aroused_ with the power this position affords me!"

Blaine watched as the room slowly filled. He couldn't miss Kurt doing his best to avoid Brittany who was chasing him with a large pink poster adorned with a picture of Kurt's face and saying something about unicorns.

"Brittany, no! That is not a campaign poster! That is a sure-fire way to _lose_ votes! I'm using my original idea. Thank you for your help, but it's not necessary anymore," he insisted.

"But your poster had no color and it made me sad. It also made me feel like falling asleep, which I did after I left your house. I worked really hard on these, Kurt, and if you don't want to be the unicorn for McKinley, I guess _I_ will."

Blaine watched the drama unfold in front of him. The way Kurt turned slowly to face Brittany.

"You will what?" Kurt asked slowly.

"I'm running against you," Brittany said, and took her seat.

Blaine raised his eyebrows, completely missing Finn filling the chair next to him. "So, what'd you do to my brother?" he asked, his voice low.

"Excuse me?" Blaine asked, his eyes flashing. "I didn't do anything to Kurt."

"Well, you did something because he's been in a pissier mood than usual ever since we came back from Nationals last spring." Finn pressed looking pretty pissed off himself.

Blaine's heart clenched inside his chest. The last thing positive thing he had was that conversation in the Lima Bean with Kurt after the New Directions came back from New York. The next morning, Coop had been gone.

"So, come on. I _know, _dude. It's gotta be your fault. Whenever I'm in a bad mood, it's usually because Rachel did something," Finn continued, oblivious to Blaine's pale color and the way he pressed his lips together. Signs that Kurt would have seen. Signs that Kurt would have understood.

"Sue's Kids! Your fellow Sue's Kid, Blaine, has made an official request on behalf of all of you to be referred to by your first names, and not my nicknames for you. As much as that disappoints me, I'm willing to sacrifice my insults in the name of winning. If hearing your given names - as if they're real - makes you want to work harder for me, then I am willing to be the bigger woman, here." At that, Ms. Sylvester barked out a laugh. "I'm taller than all of you, that's for sure. Well, except for Finn, who remains the tallest human I have ever encountered.

"Now, we have a lot to go over, and since Figgins denied my request to keep you here indefinitely, I can only keep you here legally until our agreed-upon time. First on the list of Top Secret Intel: Auditions for this year's musical are beginning."

Blaine cracked a smile as Rachel's hand shot up. "What musical?" she asked, not even waiting to be called on.

"Rachel, your enthusiasm is laudable. The musical is a personal favorite of mine, originally based on a book by Victor Hugo."

"Oh, dude! Is it The Hunchback of Notre Dame? My nana loves that movie. …She's never read the book…I don't think she's read _any _book. At least not in English," Puck interrupted.

"Noah, I'm pleasantly surprised at your ability to correctly identify a novel by any author, but our musical is-"

"_Les Miserables_!" Rachel interjected, giddy with excitement. "I _need _to be Fantine. I've already performed her big song, _I Dreamed a Dream_, with Miss Corcoran. I would also be suited for Eponine, due to my numerous performances of _On My Own _for my audience on _MySpace_."

Ms. Sylvester waited for Rachel to pause before she continued. "As Rachel so loudly pointed out, yes. Our musical is _Les Miserables_, which is a personal favorite, because it's about miserable people, and making people miserable."

"What? No it isn't. Where do you get your information?" Artie asked.

"Not all of you will make the cut, but all of you are expected to audition. It's good experience to fail at something at least once in your lives." Ms. Sylvester continued, disregarding Artie's comment.

Blaine found himself taking a deep breath and holding it. Coop had starred in a local production of just about every play and musical he could name. One of his last had been _Les Miserables_. He had played Enjolras. Blaine prayed he would not be so lucky.

"We're in glee club. We fail at things every day," Tina pointed out.

"I don't care so much about that," Ms. Sylvester said, shaking her head. "Myself, Coach Beiste and Miss Pillsbury will be in charge of the show. So come ready to show your best.

"Finally, your assignment this week is," she said, walking over to the white board and writing in giant blue block letters: **INDIVIDUALITY**. This week, you will all be singing the very same song, a classic from 1994, when most of you were fetuses, and I was a busty twelve-year-old." Ms. Sylvester said, sighing. "Your challenge will be to stand out. Your challenge will be to show me what makes you interesting.

"Now, Mike and Brittany have worked on choreography for Sectionals, on top of their regular duties to stand in the back and sway. So this practice will be dedicated to dance. Listen to them as you would to me. I will sit in this chair, watch you, and yell things at you with my bullhorn. Please be sure to look at the title of your homework song before you leave. If you forget to do this, there will be _consequences_," she said, shouting the last word through the megaphone.

* * *

The last thing Santana wanted to do was audition for some idiotic musical, but she didn't want to be on Coach Sue's shit list either. Even though she didn't have to, Santana had learned the stupid new homework song, and managed to learn a song from the miserable musical that made her want to hate her life forever. It was kind of pretty, but Santana still wished she didn't have to do this. The song was sung by a girl as she was dying. Most days, Santana wished she were, too, so she could be wherever her mom was. It was lonely here.

She waited backstage and watched Quinn sing something irreverent and sexual. Something Santana wished she had found. Miss Pillsbury clapped and said, "Yay! Yay, Quinn!"

Santana rolled her eyes. Then, she watched Puck slink onstage and do things that made her skin crawl. Then he sang a disgusting song, and called it an audition. Santana wanted to throw up, but Coach Sue, Coach Beiste and Miss Pillsbury loved it.

Santana rolled her eyes and tried to block out the hushed whispers of the Wonder Twins who were fighting about God knew what.

"Please, Kurt, talk to me."

"Why? Why do you want to talk now, after _months_ of ignoring me?" Kurt snapped.

"I'm sorry-"

"Blaine! I waited for you to return my calls, my texts, my Facebook messages! I went to your _house_, and you ignored me! You couldn't even be bothered to come to the door!" Kurt hissed. "Do you know how much that hurt? We came back from Nationals last year, and you said _you loved me_, Blaine. _You_ initiated that, not me! And then I don't hear from you for months and you show up at my school? Like nothing's changed at all? Like you didn't just rip out my heart? Who _does_ that?"

"Excuse me, Hummel. Anderson. But I needs to get into this character, and your soap opera whining is making it damn hard," Santana snarled, stalking past them onto the stage.

Once she was out there, under the hot lights, throwing her entire audition song out at the last minute seemed like a reasonable choice. But one look at Coach Sue had Santana firming her own resolve. "I'm Santana Lopez, and I'll be singing _Cosmic Love_ by Florence and the Machine," she said, tipping her chin defiantly at Coach Sue. Let her deny her emotions this time.

Santana took a breath and closed her eyes. Then, she looked up, momentarily stunned at the sight of Sam and his younger brother and sister sitting in the audience. What were they doing there? Santana shook her head, clearing it of distraction and just sang. No accompaniment. She poured all the pain into the words. Let them see her vulnerable side for five damn minutes, if it would shut Coach Sue up. So Santana sang it. She thought of her mom, and though she didn't shed a single tear, she put all the emotion into the notes and the words, cradling them, even as they broke her.

When she finished, Miss Pillsbury asked her to read the part of a girl with a weird French name. Santana did, and her breath caught as she realized it was the same chick who sang the song while she lay dying. What were the odds that Santana would have such shitty luck? When she was done, she walked off stage. The last thing she wanted to do was stay, but she wanted to go home even less, so she took a seat in the back row and listened to Anderson sing a song about stars that was slow and boring, and Hummel sing a song so high it should have been written for a woman. Berry had already auditioned, of course, and so had Mercedes but there were a few stragglers that would wait until the last possible minute to audition. She didn't care. She was done.

On his way out, Anderson called her name. They had Spanish together, and Blaine was a respectable partner.

"Santana. You wanna come with us to Rachel's? We're gonna try to figure out how to do that song from Ms. Sylvester's youth." He winked in a way Santana hated. "She said she didn't want to sit through sixteen identical performances because it would make her more hostile than usual. Rachel suggested doing it as a group. So, will you come?"

"Sure. Why not?" Santana shrugged.

* * *

Blaine tried to keep his patience as Rachel ordered everyone into positions and did her best to assign lines. Even Blaine, who considered Rachel a friend couldn't help noticing her tendency of giving the best ones to herself and Finn, leaving the rest of them the less desirable parts.

It didn't take long for Santana to declare that she was out. She was doing a solo and the rest of them could do whatever the hell they wanted. Quinn, Puck and Kurt followed. There was plenty of placating and talking them into rehearsing again. Soon, they were on the way to a decent group number. Blaine volunteered for part of the rap section. Artie took the second and Santana the last. Mike and Brittany worked out a couple admirable dance breaks.

They ran it a couple times, but something just didn't feel right to Blaine. Finally, against his better judgment, he held a hand up. "Guys. I hate to say this, but I'm really not comfortable singing alone. I'm used to having people back me up."

"You mean you're used to being the star and having other people behind you. That's not how we work. You're either a part of us or on your own."

"Finn, you had solos all the time in New Directions," Mike pointed out.

"No, I _shared_ the limelight. With Rachel," he insisted, smiling at her.

Blaine clenched his jaw. He didn't want to argue, but he also didn't want to lose out on a solo opportunity because Finn was used to calling the shots. Last year, Kurt might have spoken up in Blaine's defense, but he was equally likely to have taken Finn's side or wanted a solo himself.

"I wouldn't mind singing backup," Joe volunteered. "I'm used to it. I lead worship at my church, but someone else always does the heavy singing. I don't have the voice for that."

"Thanks, man," Blaine said gratefully.

"Oh, awesome!" Finn exclaimed bitterly. So now we have a group performance and a trio?"

"No," Joe explained amiably. "Now we have people willing to work together."

"I'll sing behind you, too," Mercedes offered. "I know it can be comforting when you're used to singin' in a group."

So, Blaine breathed a little easier, at least until Thursday night. He didn't know how the time went by so fast. But before he knew it, kids were filtering into Ms. Sylvester's room in identical white tee shirts and blue jeans. The wardrobe had been decided on by Tina, who suggested they keep it simple. Brittany and Mike had taught them simple, in sync, choreography. It was a subtle way to poke fun at the lyrics. Blaine just hoped Ms. Sylvester got the joke.

"Okay, places!" Ms. Sylvester insisted. She took a second to watch all of them, dressed the same, and laughed to herself. "Sue's Kids, your sense of irony…is delicious."

The band came in, and everyone fell into formation. Just as Rachel was about to sing, Blaine's mind wandered to the _Les Miserables _auditions. Coach Beiste had cried, and Ms. Sylvester asked if he would read for the part of Enjolras. Blaine had politely refused. It was the first time he refused to do something she asked, and he wondered if there would be some sort of consequences. Or if she would give him the role anyway, out of spite.

Blaine snapped back to attention as his line neared. He prepared to sing, to hear Joe's gentle tenor and Mercedes' sweet soprano. He was shocked, however, when he heard the voices of everyone behind him, as he moved to the front and sang. It made him feel a little better about everything.

He shifted back and forth, according to the choreography and didn't let it show on his face when Sugar, one of the new girls, faltered on her entrance. Seamlessly, he walked forward as if it was planned, and sang her part with her.

The song ended, and Ms. Sylvester didn't clap. She didn't believe in applause, which left Rachel in a constant state of wanting it. "That," Ms. Sylvester said, "was the worst performance I have ever seen. Excluding the early New Directions performance of _Push It_. But right above _Push It_? Is _this_! That showed me absolutely nothing about who you were! You know what it showed me? That you know how to blend in."

Blaine cringed. They would get it now, and staying at Rachel's house until 2 a.m. practicing this number and eating unidentifiable vegan food would all be down the drain.

"The exception?" Ms. Sylvester said, shocking Blaine's thoughts silent. "Mike. You did exactly what I asked. Go write your name on that board."

Mike looked speechless, and Blaine felt bad that he had totally missed whatever Mike had done. Thankfully, Brittany missed it, too, and Blaine overheard Quinn explain how Mike had been the only one who refused to sing a note. Instead, he danced, signing his lyrics in American Sign Language, which he was apparently fluent in.

"Can I defer?" Mike asked.

"No deferring." Ms. Sylvester denied sharply. "By deferring you're telling me you are not worthy to fill the solo position. Is that what you're saying?"

"Why are you so hard on us?" Quinn asked. "If Mike wants to throw away a perfectly good chance to sing and give it to one of us, why not let him?"

"What did your performance show me that I didn't already know about you?" Ms. Sylvester challenged. "What did it show me about what you valued? About what moves you to action? It showed me you have a natural grace. Knew that. Revolting attitude? Knew that, too. I wanted to see _you_. Instead, you showed me your unimpressive ability to be exactly like everyone else."

"I want to be in the solo pool," Mike announced quietly. "I'll work for it, and improve. I'm going out for the musical, too, even though there's no dancing at all in it."

"Do I look like I'm going to pat you on the back?" Ms. Sylvester demanded. "Save that for home. I don't believe in giving gold stars for trying. This isn't preschool. This is high school. Do the work. Take the opportunities. Now get yourselves over here and let this week's winner and Brittany show take you through the choreography again. That performance did nothing for my motivation. It's late, and I'm missing the nightly balm to my soul that is _When Animals Attack_."

Blaine fell into line, glad for the opportunity to do something physical. He took criticism well. It always made him want to work harder. It made him want to improve. Maybe part of this was in his nature. But Blaine suspected that a lot of it had to do with being told by Coop, without fail, for years, every single thing he was doing wrong.

So, for the next hour and a half, Blaine tried to be as sharp as Mike and as fluid as Brittany. But all he ended up looking like was a mess. He consistently missed steps, and the choreography felt awkward in his body. But he didn't complain and didn't give up. At the end of rehearsal, he picked up his comment card without hesitation.

He didn't read it until he was alone in his car, under the harsh parking lot lights. He read his most recent message from HSM to bolster his confidence, and Ms. Sylvester's first comment card to give him an idea of what he could be in for. But he still wasn't ready. He hadn't given his best today and he knew that. He hadn't shown Ms. Sylvester anything about himself. Blaine had, in fact, internalized every single comment Ms. Sylvester had given to Quinn and applied them to himself. Finally, he took a deep breath, and read the card.

_Blaine: Your focus was atrocious during the group number, unless it had direct repercussions on you. This is in direct conflict with your being the only one of your peers to help a student who was struggling. You showed me you were a team player, who is distracted, yet able to take criticism. Your improvement from last week gives me confidence in your potential. _

**Song for Individuality Week:**

**Ants Marching by the Dave Matthews Band**


	3. Adaptability

Santana would never admit it, but she was getting nervous. She hadn't heard from CB in days and he'd definitely been getting back to her faster than that lately. She wondered if she had been too blunt with him, pushed him away by demanding he be real with her. Normally, she wouldn't care, but honestly, she needed him. He was the only person who understood what it was like to lose someone and all the crazy emotions that came with that.

Her dad still couldn't be bothered to look her in the eye except to snap at her. Tonight. Perfect example. He never cooked, so she had to. She put a pot of chili on - not as simple as it sounds - when it was based on Mom's recipe. But she had done it. Then, she left it on the stove to simmer, and gone to her room. And even though it was only four in the afternoon, Santana had crashed, not waking up until she heard his strained curses. The whole pot of chili was a goner except, like, one bowl, which she left for her dad, but he refused to eat. He said he wasn't hungry. Santana had spent the rest of the night feeling worse than usual about herself.

Sometimes, she just wished her mom were around. Sure, Santana talked to her in her head all the time, but it wasn't the same as having her physically there, and able to respond. Santana would ask her mom if she had been too hard on CB and that was why he hadn't written back. Her mom was always telling her it was okay to be gentler with people; not everyone was going to hurt her. She must've said it a thousand times, but Santana clearly needed to hear it a thousand more.

Because she didn't have the option of talking to her mom and she felt herself descending into dangerous mental territory, Santana pulled up the grief group on her laptop. She went into the teen room, where she hadn't posted in a long ass time, and wrote:

**Burned the Chili**

_God, I'm such a moron. Made my mom's recipe tonight and obviously I suck at more things than just keeping my loved ones around. Fell asleep and the whole pot of chili burned. I feel like such a loser. Miss my mom so much. It's Sunday and I hate Sundays._

Posted on 10/2/11, 7:11 p.m.

Almost instantly, a reply came up. Santana had never gotten one like this before. It said:

_CoopsBro gave HijaSinMadre a hug._

Her eyes filled with tears. What kind of hermit was she becoming that virtual contact from total strangers was making her all emotional? Minutes later, a personal message came through and Santana clicked on it, tears still falling.

_HSM, _

_What is going on? Are you okay? Why did you post in the teen room when it's like a ghost town in there? I hope you know you can always write me if you need to talk. I hope I haven't done anything to offend you. If I have, please tell me so I can make things right again. I don't want to lose you as a friend. I'm sorry it's taken me a while to write you again, but I've been trying to get real with myself so I can be more honest with you. I'm sorry you burned the chili. I hate Sundays, too. I spend all week dreading them. You wanted honesty. This is as honest as I can get for now. I spend every single day covering up the truth about my brother's death. My parents won't allow the truth to be told, because they don't want gossip spread about our family. I want to honor their wishes, but it's killing me inside. How did your dad react to the chili? Please write me again. Oh, and about your screen name? I know. _

_CB_

Santana let out a sigh of relief that sounded too much like a whimper for comfort. CB didn't hate her.

_CB - I thought you hated me because of the line about only writing me if you were honest and not wanting your polite mask anymore. But I'll take that if that's all you can show. I even understand it. I just can't do this by myself. I cover up the truth about my mom, too. Honestly, none of my friends even realize she's gone. I keep everybody pretty distant on purpose. I don't want their pity, you know? It would destroy me. I just want my mom back. I'm sorry if I was too hard on you before. I really have no business telling you that, since I walk around pretending every single day of my life. So, we wear masks. Maybe that's how we cope. If you want to be overly nice and politically correct, be my guest. I won't pump you for information either way. Just be prepared for a politically incorrect and bitchy response in return. Please don't stop writing, though. I couldn't take it if you stopped. HSM._

_PS Dad freaked the hell out about the chili. Wouldn't even accept the one salvageable bowl. I try so hard and it's like he doesn't even notice. _

Santana wiped her eyes and dug the latest comment card out of the bottom of her bag and stared at it. It said simply: _Pick a side and stand firm. _Santana was sick as hell of the cryptic messages, but at least she kept this one. In a way, she was a little sorry she had tossed the first one. Maybe if she kept them all, she could figure out what the hell Coach was trying to say. Maybe, it was like a puzzle, and would only make sense once she had all the pieces.

* * *

Blaine spent Monday watching the last of the auditions for _Les Miserables_ from the back of the auditorium. Any amount of time he could spend away from his parents and there ongoing video tribute to his brother was something Blaine wasn't stupid enough to pass up. He slouched low in a seat and typed a quick response to HSM:

_Take courage. You matter. You are not alone. _

_PS I'll write more later, I promise. If you need me sooner, feel free to write and know I've set an alert on my phone for your messages, so I'll get them immediately. _

_CB._

Then, Blaine watched the remaining auditions. Freshman and sophomores (including Rory and Joe) auditioned for the role of Gavroche, the homeless boy who lived on the streets. Rory had minimal confidence and Joe seemed a bit too Bohemian for to play the part of street kid in the 1800s. Sugar did her best in taking on the same part Quinn read for - Madame Thenardier - and applied herself admirably. Tina read for the part of Cosette and blew the competition out of the water. Blaine even entertained the thought that Tina might be more suited for the role than Mercedes, who auditioned for it the previous week. Brittany stumbled through singing a song designated for the chorus and then lit up the stage dancing as a lady of the evening. Mike surprised Blaine and read for Enjolras, thank God. That left Finn, who auditioned for the part of Inspector Javert. And, while he tried, Blaine found himself hoping that if Finn made the show, it would not be in this particular role.

Blaine sat up a little as Artie took the stage. He had to admit, Blaine had overlooked him. There weren't any students in wheelchairs at Dalton, and while Mike and Brittany did a great job choreographing to include Artie, rather than putting him off to the side with an electric bass, Blaine had to admit, he'd never seen a person in a wheelchair audition for any part, much less-

"I'm Artie Abrams, and I'll be auditioning for the role of Inspector Javert."

Blaine closed his eyes. He had auditioned for that part himself last week. So now it was between himself, Finn and Artie? At least. There had to have been countless other auditions in the last few days.

"Anderson!"

In his seat, Blaine started. He'd thought he was blending in so well. "Yes, ma'am?" he asked, addressing Coach Beiste, who had spoken.

"Get up here and play Jean Valjean opposite Artie for us."

"Oh. Okay," Blaine managed, getting to his feet and making his way to stage.

"Javert is a very physical role. How would you manage that?" Miss Pillsbury asked Artie gently.

"My dad offered to make me some kind of a holder for Javert's billy club, if I were to get the part. Until then, I can use my backpack for storage. Otherwise, I plan to adapt. All I want is an equal chance to show you I can play this role."

So, Blaine was a prisoner for a few moments, impressed by this up close and personal view of Artie and the committed way he embodied the character. He had a deeper understanding than Blaine himself had, definitely. But Blaine's heart sank even as Artie thrust the club threateningly beneath Blaine's own chin. He couldn't stop the thought that Artie might never get the chance to do this. The chair just seemed too big an obstacle.

"What do you know about Inspector Javert?" This from Ms. Sylvester. Blaine had been asked the same question, first about Enjolras, which he had refused to answer, and then about Inspector Javert. He had fumbled through the answer. ("He's a cop, I believe.") Artie's own was much more cohesive and informed.

"Javert was the son of a fortune-teller and a slave. He was born inside a prison and was led to choose between fighting society or protecting it. He decides protecting people is the better option. For him, it might be the only option, if I remember correctly. It's been a few years since I read the book." Artie said apologetically.

"You've read the entire text?" Ms. Sylvester asked, skeptical.

"The summer after seventh grade." Artie confirmed.

"Thank you both," Miss Pillsbury told them. "The cast list will go up Friday."

* * *

"Okay, well, we've got a lot of the minor roles filled, but what about the bigger parts?" Emma asked nervously. It was Wednesday night. The cast list went up in two days. Sue was busy tomorrow with Sue's Kids. This was their last chance to get it finalized.

"Selma, your anxious energy is emanating from you like an unattractive musk. For God's sake. What's your issue?" Sue snapped impatiently.

"If you must know, Will's been pushing to meet my parents and I'm just not ready for that. No parents until absolutely necessary. Christmas, the wedding, I don't know! Maybe never!" Emma continued, her voice climbing with every word.

"Did you tell him how you feel?" Shannon wondered. "The man can't read your mind."

"Especially _that _man with that amount of gel impeding his thought process…" Sue remarked under her breath.

"I told him I wasn't ready, but he won't listen to me. He thinks it's personal, but it isn't," Emma pressed.

"For the love of my sanity, I'm gravely sorry I asked. If we don't get down to casting some kids in this ridiculously difficult musical, I nominate myself to play all the roles," Sue said confidently.

"All right, all right," Shannon sighed. "Well honestly, I've got a few concerns. Blaine, first of all. He's talented but the way he downright refused to read for any other role or even tell us what he knew about it makes me more than a little skittish about casting him at all. What else will he refuse to do?"

"And Santana clearly wanted to ruffle some feathers by choosing a nontraditional song to audition with. I mean _Cosmic Love_? What did that show us in terms of what role she's suited for?" Emma insisted.

"That she can be vulnerable," Sue interjected softly. "Now, I think we have several of these kids in mind for specific parts, but we need to talk about Artie."

"The kid's a beast - no pun intended - on the football field, but how's he gonna do in a part that requires so much physical presence?" Shannon asked seriously.

"What about his safety? I mean, there are confrontational scenes in here. Javert is knocked down! Besides the fact that he has to be intimidating. I'm not trying to be rude, but how can we expect him to intimidate whoever we cast as our male lead, if Artie only comes up to their waist?" Emma asked, her eyes full of compassion. "I guess there are other options. Finn Hudson's a senior. It's his last year. It would make sense to give him a leading role. Or Blaine. Despite his reluctance to read for Enjolras, he was charming in his audition for Javert."

"But the part doesn't call for _charm_, Erma. It calls for commitment and gravitas. It calls for intensity. Blaine didn't know the first thing about the character. Finn didn't even know how to pronounce Javert's _name._"

"Well, what do we do then?" Shannon asked, disappointed. "I mean, I guess we could see one of the glee club ladies for the part if we had to. I wouldn't be opposed to gender-blind casting."

"You wouldn't be opposed to cast a _female _in the role of Javert rather than giving it to the only kid in the entire school who has a _grasp_ of the character he's playing?" Sue insisted. "Let me tell you something. All I ever wanted for my sister was the opportunity to be treated like anyone else. She wanted to do everything I did, but she wasn't allowed on sports teams or cheerleading. She couldn't be in drama or the chorus. You know why? People limited her. Maybe she lived up to her potential, but maybe she could have gone farther if people set her next to her peers and gave her the chance to adapt, and gave those average kids a chance to be around something they weren't used to. I want Artie for this part. I think the only limits on him are the ones we put on him, or the ones he puts on himself. Let's vote. All in favor?"

Sue raised her own hand, not surprised at all to see her cohorts averting their eyes, their hands studiously hidden in their laps.

* * *

_HSM,_

_I hope things are better for you. You have been in my thoughts daily and I don't know how you feel about faith, but I've been praying for you. Parents can be so frustrating. I've been avoiding mine. I hope this isn't awkward or insensitive to admit but I used to be pretty close to my mom. Now? I don't know. She only sees what she wants to see. And it's apparent that she doesn't want to see me. Lots of things are going on right now at school and I don't know how to balance it all. It doesn't help that I've been to three schools in the last three years. The last transfer was due in large part to the loss of my brother. Hard to explain. I could never stop writing you. Things just got busy. But I apologize. I could have written a line or two to let you know we were on good terms. You are really the only person who understands what this is like for me. Everyone makes mistakes. I'm sure your mom forgives you about the chili. I know I do. Your dad missed out on something nice. His loss. Not a reflection on you. Write me anytime. Be as honest as you need to be. I'll always be here to listen. _

_CB_

Reading CB's words right away in the morning made it possible for Santana 's tears to ease up a little faster than usual. At least she didn't have to worry about her only confidant turning his back on her. Only after jotting down a quick response: (_So angry in the mornings._) Santana browsed all the social networks looking for gossip to lose herself in.

She clicked on the glee subgroup she created on Facebook and scrolled through the updates.

_Kurt Hummel_

_Healthier lunches at McKinley? Banning dodge ball? Anti-bullying policy? If any of these issues strike a chord with you, vote Kurt Hummel in the student elections._

_Michael Chang Jr. _

_Got an Asian F. My dad wants me to quit Sue's Kids, so what did I do? Auditioned for the play, of course. He's gonna kill me. Goodbye, social life…_

_Brittany S. Pierce_

_Promises if you elect me as Class President I will stop tornadoes from striking Ohio. Vote Pierce and Lord Tubbington promises to lose five pounds by Christmas. Peace out._

_Rachel Berry_

_I have officially thrown my hat into the race for class president at McKinley! Also, practically shaking in anticipation of the Les Mis cast list, which will be posted tomorrow! Eponine, here I come! I will play you with grace and flashes of brilliance, I promise._

Santana rolled her eyes. Leave it to the glee losers to put stock in shit that mattered so little in the grand scheme of things. Sure, they'd experienced losses. Hummel didn't have his mom. But he'd had nine years to come to terms with it. Finn lost his dad, but he never really got the chance to know him. Tina was adopted, but as a baby, so she didn't remember the trauma or the culture shock of moving from another country. No one really got what it was like for her. Except CB, some anonymous guy online who could be 46 and creepy for all she really knew about him. He definitely talked like he was 46.

Santana swallowed down her fear and thought about the glee assignment. Tuesday afternoon, Coach Sue had been especially bitchy talking about adaptability and drawing everyone's name out of a top hat. Out of a matching hat, she had pulled random song titles. She told them this week, their assignment was to prove their ability to take on whatever was thrown at them. Well, Santana already sucked at that, so she pretty much ignored the assignment until now. Three a.m. Seventeen hours and counting. She didn't know the first thing about a stupid song called _Something Beautiful_. Probably because nothing was beautiful at all right now.

For the first time since losing her mom, Santana crawled back in bed wanting to sleep the entire day away, not able to face anything. Especially not Sue's assignment. But she got up anyway, because spending the day in bed had been what her mom had done. And she excused herself in the middle of a boring as hell Spanish lesson with an excuse of stopping by the bathroom, but instead found herself hesitating outside Miss Pillsbury's door.

"Santana?" Miss Pillsbury said, surprising her. "Come on in."

Weird. Miss P. didn't even act like it was spur of the moment or anything. It was like she was used to kids just showing up unannounced, looking like crap.

Because she had nothing better to do, Santana walked in and took a seat, eyeing the pamphlets. _Why Can't I Stop Crying_ caught her eye and Santana had to look away.

"How are things going?" Miss Pillsbury asked, arranging things on her desk and squirting hand-sanitizer onto her hand. It was scented. Jelly doughnut. It made Santana queasy. She wanted to ask how things were going for Miss Pillsbury that she had to constantly organize or get freaked out, but it wasn't Santana's business.

"Fine," Santana insisted, her voice too thick. Why had she come here? There was nothing a stupid counselor could tell her that Santana didn't already know.

"Maybe you just want to sit here for a few minutes, then. I understand that," Miss Pillsbury said, her tone sympathetic.

Santana's gaze locked on Miss Pillsbury's. "Really?"

"Stay as long as you need to. This is a safe space to feel whatever you need to. We don't have to talk."

So Santana wrapped her arms around raised knees, stared at the wall behind Miss Pillsbury's head, and tried to keep her head above water, so to speak.

* * *

Blaine came in that evening, feeling very confident. He had rehearsed his own acoustic version of _Rubber Duckie_ and he was familiar with it already, which helped. He had not, however, forgotten Ms. Sylvester's instructions about helping one another. He had texted or called every one of his fellow Sue's Kids members, even Kurt, and offered his assistance. Most everyone turned him down.

Those who accepted were unexpected: Puck, Quinn, Mercedes and Rory. The practice sessions had been intense but worth it, as Rory learned tempo, Puck mastered something other than a rock song, Mercedes embraced a '60s classic and Quinn opened herself up to some real emotion. They all wanted solos for the big competitions and so far only Kurt and Mike were eligible.

"Welcome, Sue's Kids!" Ms. Sylvester barked as they all filed in. She watched carefully as they filed in, stopping short as the clock ticked to 7:01 and a chair remained empty. "Where's Santana?" she demanded.

"I'll find her," Quinn volunteered.

"Yeah, just don't get lost on the way! We've got business to attend to!" Ms. Sylvester barked. "Who among you can tell me what it means to adapt? Anyone? Anyone at all who understands the queen's English."

"Adapting means opening your heart to loving something or someone more than yourself and letting them live with you forever, even though you don't have to," Brittany offered. "I adapted some pumpkins that rotted so they'd have a home for Halloween."

Blaine raised his eyebrows, as Quinn reentered, dragging Santana by an elbow, but he was distracted when Artie spoke up.

"Adapting means changing the way you do things because you're forced to, or for the benefit of someone else," Artie volunteered.

"Now that we're all here," Ms. Sylvester said, giving Santana the evil eye. "Since you were the last to join us, Santana, maybe you'd like to be the first to take on the assignment?" Ms. Sylvester paused too briefly for a response. "That was rhetorical. Now get up here and show me what you got. You'll be singing the song originally assigned to Kurt…"

Blaine heard the title, but it was obvious Santana physically couldn't stand it. She grew pale, turned on her heel and ran out to the hallway.

Ms. Sylvester pressed her lips together in an expression that could have been concern. "Rachel. I know you thrive on being picked first, and I also know you have the inhuman ability to project your voice so it can be heard throughout the Midwest. You've got Quinn's song. After Rachel, I want Blaine, with Artie's song. Front and center. I want to hear you both in China." Ms. Sylvester said, and then she walked calmly after Santana, all while Rachel seamlessly fell into a country tune Blaine doubted she was familiar with before Tuesday.

That gave Blaine approximately three minutes to learn a great song with an amazing rap section. When Rachel was finished, Blaine was ready.

* * *

There was no way in hell Santana was singing a song with a title like that. Like she didn't feel that blame every damn minute of her life. She didn't need to sing about it, too. This was too far, even for Coach Sylvester. Santana hadn't made it farther than a few steps outside the door, and braced herself against the wall, facing it, and trying to block everything else out.

"Listen to me," Coach's voice floated to Santana through the sound of blood pounding in her ears. "You can do this. It's a song. It's words on a page. You can do this. I'm not asking to know what you're going through. I'm giving you an outlet for it."

Santana gasped a little too deeply and then forced herself to breathe out. In seconds, her face was the mask she had perfected. She walked back inside and quickly looked up the words lyrics to Kurt's assigned song on her phone. When Rachel finished, Santana stood without being called on and stumbled through it. Somehow, Coach Sue had known exactly what to say to her. Exactly how to get the best out of her. It reminded Santana of being in Cheerios. Of trusting there would always be someone there to catch her. Of the Unholy Trinity. Of a sameness and a predictability that had been lacking in her life for too long.

She walked back to her seat, arms crossed, daring anyone to ask anything or look at her funny. Santana forced herself to pay attention to the rest of the songs. None stood out. Santana didn't even recognize the one that had originally been assigned to her.

Still Coach had been listening, even to Rachel and Blaine who went first, and was quick to decide on a winner, with far less humor and snark than Santana was used to.

"Quinn Fabray. Congratulations. You've adapted. To the rest of you? There's a fine line between adaptability and camouflage. Comment cards. Get them and get out of my class."

"But it's only 8:15," Rory protested. "Brittany's family expects us to be occupied until exactly 9:00. I can't drive and Brittany's license got suspended when she let her cat drive."

"It's true," Brittany confirmed quietly.

"Not really my problem." Coach Sue waved off Rory's comment. "Quinn, put your name on the board to signify your transformation into a black R&B singer of the late '90s. The cast list for _Les Miserables _will be posted on Friday."

Santana didn't wait. She swiped her card off the piano and got the hell out of there. She didn't read it that night. Instead she crawled into bed early and shocked herself by sleeping soundly until 4:00 a.m. the following morning.

Groggily, she reached under her pillow, distracted by a crinkling, and withdrew Coach's card from last night. Through tears that came every morning without fail, Santana read the words:

_Don't let yourself disappear. Look people dead in the eye and tell the truth - even if that person is an adversary. Even if that person is me._

* * *

The first thing Blaine did on Friday morning at McKinley was to see if the _Les Miserables _cast list was posted. It wasn't yet, so Blaine pulled the latest comment card from Ms. Sylvester out of his pocket and read it:

_Your singing was loud and indulgent. Loud plus indulgent does not equal adaptive. Watch Kurt for theatricality. Mike for individuality. Quinn for adaptability. More than that, figure out what you can teach us. What do you have that I haven't seen yet? Impress me, Blaine. I know you can make that list._

Easy for Ms. Sylvester to say, she wasn't the one performing for her own incredibly high standards.

Blaine was distracted by the flash of an orange tracksuit and stood on his toes in the ever-increasing hallway crowd. Rachel wasn't even here yet. That was strange. Blaine's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Why aren't you here?" Rachel's voice demanded.

"I _am _here. Where are _you_?" he asked.

"Auditorium, Blaine. Not glee practice. Get here. You _need _to see this."

Blaine didn't think. He ran until he arrived, breathless at the auditorium doors. The crowd was smaller than he anticipated, and he had no trouble seeing the list…and his mouth dropped open.

_Jean Valjean - Kurt Hummel_

_Javert - Artie Abrams_

_Fantine - Rachel Berry_

_Cosette - Tina Cohen-Chang_

_Young Cosette - Stacey Evans_

_Marius - Blaine Anderson_

_Eponine - Santana Lopez_

_M. Thenardier - Noah Puckerman_

_Mme. Thenardier - Quinn Fabray_

_Enjolras - Mike Chang_

_Gavroche - Stevie Evans_

_Bishop - Joe Hart_

* * *

**Track Listing for Adaptability Week:**

**Artie Abrams - State of Emergency by Steel Pulse **

**Blaine Anderson - Let It Rock by Kevin Rudolf ft. Lil Wayne**

**Rachel Berry - Austin by Blake Shelton**

**Mike Chang - Tequila Sunrise by The Eagles**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - How 'Bout Us by Champaign**

**Sam Evans - Everything by Jody Watley**

**Quinn Fabray - Are You That Somebody by Aaliyah**

**Rory Flannigan - Clean Up Woman by Betty Wright**

**Joe Hart - They All Laughed by Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong**

**Finn Hudson - Love Me Tonight by Don Williams**

**Kurt Hummel - Swingin' On a Star by Bing Crosby**

**Mercedes Jones - Don't Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin**

**Santana Lopez - Nobody's Fault But Mine by Led Zeppelin**

**Sugar Motta - Rubber Duckie by Sesame Steet**

**Brittany Pierce - Something Beautiful by Needtobreathe**

**Noah Puckerman - Wooly Bully by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs**


	4. Excellence

"Congratulations! The lead role! That's amazing!" Blaine said, extending a hand to Kurt, who ignored it.

He tried again with Artie, who reciprocated; looking shocked at the role he was given. "I still can't believe it. I was sure they'd put me on the tech crew somewhere else out of sight, but Coach Sylvester said she knew I was best for the part and blackmailed Coach Beiste and Miss Pillsbury by threatening to run a _Sue's Corner _on their blatant discrimination in denying someone so clearly suited for the part as I was." Artie smiled. "You're gonna be a great Marius," he complimented.

"Thank you, Blaine responded out of habit, though in truth, he was not excited to play the role of a sole survivor of a massacre, or lose a loved one in his arms…

He turned to the next person he saw. Santana. Blaine braced himself, seeing Rachel discussing something passionately with her.

"Santana, I would give my _firstborn child _to play Eponine - of course, only if it were on Broadway - but still! Fantine is a fantastic part, but _the audience loves _Eponine. I'm so jealous of you right now."

Santana wrinkled her nose at Rachel. "You can have her. Like I want to be some loser who lives on the streets. Give your part to Mercedes." Santana suggested.

"Hell no! I do _not_ need your hand-me-downs, Lopez!" Mercedes balked.

"Actually, they're _Berry's_. I'm giving my hand-me-downs to _her_." Santana corrected getting right in Mercedes' face. They both looked angry enough to come to blows. So, that's when Blaine made his move, inserting himself between the girls and facing Santana.

"Congratulations-"

"Don't touch me," Santana spat, avoiding Blaine's extended hand and walking away.

For a second, no one spoke and then Rachel's voice carried over everyone else's.

"Cast party sleepover at my house tonight! If your name is anywhere on the list, you're welcome to come!" she explained.

Blaine glanced around, feeling uncomfortable as he watched everyone actively ignoring Rachel. Even Kurt, who apparently remained infuriated that Rachel was running against him for class president. Mercedes, who might have said yes once upon a time, was livid that Rachel got a main role while she remained in the chorus.

"I'll come," Blaine offered.

"Me, too," Tina echoed.

"Excellent," Rachel said, hiding her hurt with a smile. "Just me, my daughter and her one true love."

Blaine pressed his lips together to keep from telling Rachel that if she said things like that on a regular basis, it was no wonder no one came. At the same time, Tina laughed and said, "Ew!"

For the entire day, Blaine poured himself into school, determined to get as much done as possible so he could enjoy Rachel's sleepover. His parents wouldn't even notice he was gone tonight, and it would give him a break from his life for a while. He did homework when he had a free minute, even during lunch, and the second the bell rang, Blaine was in the school parking lot, rushing for his car. He had already planned this out in his head. He'd go home, pack an overnight bag and then hang out at the Lima Bean until an acceptable time to show up at the Berry residence.

Thankfully, he managed to avoid his parents altogether, and stowed the bag in the trunk while he went inside the Lima Bean and ordered his usual medium drip. Then, Blaine found a table near the back and pulled up the bereavement site on his phone. Nothing new from HSM. That was fine. He had managed to avoid thinking about Coop for several hours and felt better for it. Blaine took the absence of a reply from HSM as a sign and focused on the crazy amount of homework he had to get done.

Over the next five hours, he drank three medium drips and made a respectable dent in the pile on the table before him. The next time he looked at his watch, it was almost 7 p.m. and he had two texts from Rachel and one from Tina:

_Marius, Where are you? (You can't tell but I am singing this.) I cannot last one more minute without seeing my daughter's true love. Fantine._

6:56PM Fri, Oct 7

From: Rachel

_My child and I wait for you. I_, _from somewhere beyond, and my child from the mortal world. Please come. It would make her so happy. Fantine._

6:57PM Fri, Oct 7

From Rachel

_Blaine. Get here soon. Rachel is totally in character, wearing that weird dress from her house party last year and floating around the basement, calling for you. (I don't think she realizes that in the play I'm the one in love with you, not her.) Her dads are totally playing into it. They've supplied us with three different versions of the musical for tonight. Hurry. I can't do this alone._

7:09PM Fri, Oct 7

From: Tina

So, Blaine threw his books in his backpack and made his way over. On his way downstairs, he could already hear Rachel's dads reenacting the scene Blaine had just read with Artie. Hiram was Valjean and LeRoy was Javert. It sounded very dramatic, and Blaine crept into the basement silently to watch, without disturbing them.

"Blaine! You came!" Rachel enthused in a stage whisper. "I can't wait for you to see what I have planned. _Les Miserables_ starring Liam Neeson. _Les Miserables_ the 10th anniversary DVD _and _the 25th anniversary DVD!"

"Wow…" Blaine breathed as LeRoy threatened Hiram with a microphone stand from the stage, in lieu of a club.

"If you kids need anything, let us know," Hiram insisted, breathless from his brief time as Prisoner 24601.

"We'll be up in a minute to get refreshments," Rachel reassured. The minute her parents were out of sight, Rachel lowered her voice and hissed, "Can you believe Finn didn't get a main part? And Mercedes is in the _chorus_," she wrinkled her nose as if chorus was an inherently dirty word.

"Finn seemed pretty happy to be cast as a student at the barricade," Tina pointed out.

"Yes, but that's because he doesn't know he's capable of so much more than that!" Rachel insisted. "And Mercedes of all people deserves to be front and center."

"I love Mercedes, too, but I'm glad to have the part I have," Tina maintained. "I wouldn't want to give it up, would you?"

"I'd trade mine for Santana's," Rachel said honestly as the two disappeared upstairs. "Be right back, Blaine. Did you want something specific?" she asked, gesturing in the general direction of the kitchen and, he guessed, the snacks.

"Anything is fine," he nodded, forcing a smile. Actually, Blaine was hoping for a chance to check for an update from HSM. If Rachel and Tina were suitably occupied, Blaine just might have that chance.

Blaine quickly navigated to the site and waited for it to load.

_You have Hope & Healing Mail._

Clicking on the link, Blaine forced himself to read the message slowly, while Rachel and Tina's voices floated down to him from above.

"_Last I heard, you wanted Fantine or Cosette. Now you are Fantine and you'd rather be Eponine? I don't get it._"

"_If you promise to keep this between us, the truth is, I'd love the opportunity to play all the female leads, throughout my life. Kind of like Lea Salonga, who has starred as Eponine and Fantine. The only one she missed out on is Cosette. But I have the confidence that I could do all three."_

Blaine tried not to roll his eyes and focused instead on the message from HSM. She seemed so sad. He could assume she was female, based on the feminine use of the word 'child' in her screen name. It made him want to be more fluent in Spanish than a few words that he managed to look up here and there. It didn't matter that he had a firm grasp on Italian and French and even spoke a little Taglish thanks to his mother. He wanted another way to connect to HSM, who seemed so isolated:

_CB - You should know I've convinced myself you're a 46-year-old creep. I don't know who else would take the time to talk to someone like me. Obviously, the fact that I'm writing you anyway, shows you how desperate I am. Things aren't better. Worse, if possible. I can't take this anymore. I'll take your prayers but you should know I don't believe in God anymore. That way, if you want to take them back, you can. I don't mind hearing about the crap your parents do because it makes me feel less crappy about the stuff my dad does (or doesn't do.) But I am totally jealous that you still have a mom. Try to forgive her, okay? She's probably the only one you'll get. She wants to see you. Come on. What mom wouldn't want to see their kid, especially if she's in her 90s and her creepy 46-year-old son lives in her basement - probably with a huge collection of cats? Sorry, that was mean. I hope you are who you say you are. And I hope my mom couldn't see me mess up the chili. I don't want to disappoint her. I don't care if my dad missed out on something nice. I don't care about anything anymore. This sucks, CB._

Blaine bit his lip and typed out a quick response:

_I have never, for a second, doubted who you said you were. I know you're hurting but don't push me away. I would never take back my prayers for you. In fact, I'm saying extra now that you said that. You still care. If you didn't care, it wouldn't hurt so much. I'm sorry it does. Hang on, HSM. _

"Did you know that Brittany honestly believes that Rory Flannigan is a leprechaun?" Tina asked. "Last I heard, she thinks that's like a magic genie and that he can grant her three wishes. And he's going along with it! Because he wants to get in her pants," she bristled.

"Ugh, boys can be so disgusting," Rachel echoed, descending the last step, just as Blaine tucked his phone back into her pocket. "All Finn wants to do is sleep with me, and I just keep putting it off. I know he thinks I'm a prude, but I don't care. I want it to be special. Is that so wrong?"

"No," Blaine answered honestly, surprising them both.

"Sorry, Blaine," Tina apologized. "We didn't mean you sucked. Just Rory. And Finn."

"Okay," Rachel intoned deeply. "This is a very serious moment. Now, which version of _Les Mis_ should we watch first?"

* * *

It was exactly what Blaine had been hoping for. An opportunity to lose himself in something for hours upon hours. They had only gotten through one version of the play before Rachel dropped off, exhausted. Tina had her phone out and was texting, so Blaine excused himself, changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth before he climbed in his sleeping bag and tried to sleep.

The next thing he knew, Blaine was being chased. His heart was beating fast and loud and he couldn't stop. If he stopped, it would happen again. He ached all over, and wasn't wearing a shirt. He didn't know where he was or who he was with, only that they had to run right now. Blaine yelled names he couldn't remember, urging them with him, before he realized he shouldn't raise his voice. Eventually, he found himself in front of a mirror where he stared, terrified, at his own reflection. Scared eyes were reflected back at him with long scratches extending from beneath one eye down his cheek.

* * *

"Blaine?" Rachel called softly after she'd watched his shadow stumbling around the dark basement for a moment. "Can you hear me?"

"Hurry…we have to go…He'll catch up…" Blaine mumbled, stepping deftly around Tina and shaking each of their shoulders in turn.

"Okay. I'm with you. Where do you want to go?" Rachel asked softly, sweetly.

She had never witnessed anyone sleepwalking. When Rachel was young, she had _been_ the sleepwalker, bound to scare her dads half to death when they woke to find her missing from bed. It mostly happened before a big performance, recital, or concert, which meant it was at least a monthly occurrence from ages six to twelve. Her dads eventually put more comprehensive locks on the doors, because she had a tendency to get out and wander the neighborhood. They took her to the pediatrician, who said it directly correlated to stress. With time, Rachel learned other ways to channel her anticipation and the sleepwalking stopped. She wondered what could be causing Blaine stress.

"There….He's right behind me…" Blaine gestured vaguely, his curls messed; eyes glassy.

Tentatively, Rachel put an arm around Blaine's shoulders, intending to reassure him. She pulled back as she felt the shudder go through him.

"What's going on?" Tina asked groggily.

"He's sleepwalking," Rachel said, concern clear in her eyes.

"I'm _not making it up_! He's chasing us!" Blaine insisted.

Rachel looked to Tina, at a loss.

"Okay," Tina said, her voice quiet and soothing. "What would help?"

"Nothing…It's too late, he already found me once…If we don't run right now, he'll _kill us_…"

"Maybe it wasn't a good idea to watch that high school production tonight, with the barricade scene…" Rachel whispered. "I know I've never seen a Gavroche or an Eponine expire in such a dramatic way…" Rachel mused, her brows furrowed. "You stay with him," she decided, turning to go up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Tina hissed.

"To get him water!" Rachel stage-whispered and disappeared.

Going on instinct, Tina led Blaine to the basement restroom, closing and locking the door. "There. He won't be able to get in here. I promise."

"You have the key?" he asked, shaking.

"Yeah, I have it," Tina confirmed. She prayed he wouldn't ask to see it. If he did, she hoped he wouldn't realize he was being tricked. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she watched Blaine stare at his own reflection in the mirror for a long time. Then, slowly, he blinked and turned.

"Tina?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Are you okay?" she pressed gently.

She watched as he felt around his blue plaid pajamas, looking confused. "Where's my phone?"

"Rachel, get his phone," Tina called through the door, not wanting to risk opening it, in case Blaine still believed they were in danger. She'd heard Rachel's unnaturally loud tread descending the stairs, so she knew Rachel was somewhere in the basement, hopefully, waiting for the word that Blaine was back to his usual self.

"Got it," Rachel confirmed.

"I'm gonna open the door," Tina told him, giving Blaine a heads-up.

He shook his head, confused. "Why are we in the bathroom?"

Tina retrieved the phone and the glass of water Rachel seemed intent about leaving with him. "Here. Are you okay now?" Tina asked hesitantly, turning back to Blaine.

This time, though, his scared expression was barely covered by a shaky smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. Sorry about that. Can I just have a minute alone?"

"Sure. Yeah. We'll be right out here," Tina nodded toward the basement as she eased the door open again.

* * *

Blaine's hands shook. He glanced at the time on his phone. 2:35 a.m. He'd barely slept at all and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just escaped something that meant to do him serious harm. He still felt panicked, and forced himself to breathe, swallowing the lump in his throat, as well as the urge to check himself over for evidence of an attack.

_HSM it's so late/early & I am sorry to write you like this. Just had the worst nightmare/sleepwalking episode in a while & I was with two friends. I feel humiliated and afraid. I dreamed that I was being chased. It was never obvious in the dream, but I think the person chasing me was my brother. Really scary because it felt like he was after me to kill me. It's weird to even suggest this - but maybe you would get it - it felt almost like he was haunting me? In the nightmare I looked in the mirror & had these long scratches on my face, similar to what I've seen in horror movies. Ever seen The Sixth Sense? It was like that. Except he really found me and really beat the crap out of me. I was running & I knew if he caught me again he would kill me. Then I woke up in a friend's restroom with another friend talking to me like I was a total head case. I know it was just a dream but I can't stop shaking. _

* * *

Santana tossed and turned all night, never able to really sleep. Her dreams were weird. An old nightmare that plagued her ever since she was little. Lord Licorice coming alive off the Candy Land board game and forcing her to live with him in the Licorice Castle while her mom was way ahead with Queen Frostine, and couldn't hear her calling.

It was stupid, but it still set her heart racing, even all these years later. She pulled her laptop toward her and logged on, intending to write CB back. He was so damn sweet and concerned, and she appreciated it. He deserved to know that. Instead, she found a newer message, and glanced at the timestamp. From just a few minutes before. Santana read each word, feeling more and more concerned.

A voice in her head sounding suspiciously like her mom said: _"Still think he's 46, mija?" _and Santana scoffed, trying hard to disregard it. But as hard as she tried, the truth was in front of her. He was young and scared as she was. Santana didn't wait. She wrote him back right away.

_CB, I'm here. Online right now. Just letting you know. I couldn't sleep either, so… Dreams about evil Candy Land characters taking me away. Not joking. It's a recurring nightmare I've had since I was a kid. Lord Licorice kidnaps me and my mom goes ahead without me to live with Queen Frostine in her castle, not knowing I'm in the Licorice one, scared for my life. I believe you. Thanks for sticking by me. I'm with you. Write back whenever. I'll be awake. HSM._

Santana hit send and not thirty seconds later, a reply showed up:

_Thank you. I'll protect you from Lord Licorice if you talk your medium into keeping my brother's spirit from being pissed at me. Deal? CB_

Santana smiled a little, and wrote:

_Deal. Go back to your friends and try to sleep. One of us should. If they ask you about what happened just blow them off. I do it all the time. It's none of their business anyway. Wishing you safe dreams and that your brother calms down, wherever he is. Breathe. You'll be okay._

* * *

The next three weeks were packed with rehearsals for the play, which Santana dreaded. Mostly, because they weren't broken up at all, because Coach Sue pushed back rehearsals of Sue's Kids. They weren't going to meet until November. This meant, Santana had a month of torture to endure.

She wasn't lying when she said she was willing to give up her part to Berry. The last character she wanted to portray was someone whose parents treated her like crap and were creepy assholes, who kicked her out of the house to starve. Too much like real life, if you asked Santana. The only redeeming thing about Eponine was that she got to die. Not that Santana was suicidal. She wasn't. It was just nice to think about being closer to her mom, sometimes. Even that part was ruined for her, though, because Eponine couldn't even die alone like she probably should have. She had to die a weak loser in the arms of some guy that lied to her and told her he loved her. And that guy was played by Anderson. And she had to look at him. And let him hold her. It was awful.

Santana was going over her lines, while Coach Sue was showing little Stevie Evans how to die convincingly. He seemed thrilled at the chance to be in a high school play, even though he was only nine years old. Sam came to every rehearsal - mostly to keep an eye on Stacey, who was six, and tended to want to touch all the props and try on costumes of no one was watching.

Santana focused on her script again, her eyes falling on a single line of text:

_Eponine: What do you do with all these books?_

"She's _illiterate_!" Santana exclaimed, scaring Joe, and earning a glare from Kurt, who were running lines onstage. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" Coach Beiste fired back. "Stop with your lily-livered excuses and run your lines with Anderson."

Santana turned and glared at Blaine, who sat calmly in the audience, a script in hand. "Let me tell you how it's gonna be. I am an _educated _person, and I won't have anyone thinking anything else. I don't play dumb. So, we scrap this line, or you can find yourself another Eponine."

"You'll play the part as written," Coach Sue interjected, as she lie prone on the floor for Stevie's benefit. "Stop with the posturing and do what you're here to do, or be unprepared on show night. Your choice."

Blaine raised an eyebrow at her and Santana growled profanity under her breath. Fine. What had Coach Sue said at practice? That was an outlet? Chances were, so was this. So, even if she hated it, it might at least be an excuse to stay busy. And she could put her own spin on it. Make this Eponine a little more street-wise and less pretty. According to Artie, she wasn't supposed to be pretty anyway. In the book, she was toothless and ugly. Gavroche was her brother and the Thenardiers were their parents, who sucked. She could relate to that.

She grabbed Blaine by the sleeve and dragged him off to the side, where they could rehearse without everyone watching, though she suspected Miss Pillsbury could see them from wherever she was.

"I'm gonna die now," Santana told him like she could care less. "So, you can hold me or whatever and I'll act like I love you. I'm just gonna say the lines," she added, remembering Coach Sue's advice to recite them in a normal speaking voice first, and then sing them, to understand which words were stressed and which were not.

Blaine stared at her like a deer in the headlights.

"Relax, Anderson. It's just pretend," Santana reassured, plastering on a fake smile for his benefit.

"Right," he echoed, sounding lost.

"I love this scene," Miss Pillsbury enthused, approaching them in the dark hallway, leading up to the stage. "Santana!" she said, clapping her hands with fervor. "Lie down on the floor like you're dying, and Blaine, you cradle her in your arms."

Santana lie down awkwardly, while Blaine held her with all the romance of Finn Hudson during sophomore year. Santana shuddered at the thought. She recited her lines, staring at a point in the ceiling, Blaine's forehead, anywhere except Blaine's eyes.

In seconds, she was reminded of being a little girl, being held by Maribel in much a similar manner. All those years ago, Santana had thought eye contact was spooky, too and she hadn't been able to do it. She writhed, and whined and wanted to get down but Maribel had held her and talked quietly to her. Whenever there was even accidental eye contact, Maribel would reward it. Santana remembered getting to drink chocolate milk, and feeling less afraid as time went on.

The memory pissed Santana off. Her mom had done all of that to convince Santana she would never leave, and look what happened. Ten years down the road, and she was gone. Just like everyone else. Santana knew it was just a matter of time before her dad followed suit. He was practically gone anyway. Always at work, and leaving the housework, the shopping and the cooking undone. It wasn't like he was a chauvinist, more like he couldn't face doing the things that had a memory of his wife attached. Well, did he think it was easy for her? Grocery shopping was a nightmare. It was still a tightrope walk to get out of there in one piece, without seeing something that reminded her of her mom.

"Santana?" Miss Pillsbury asked.

"Yeah. I'm here," Santana answered, even though it couldn't be further from the truth.

* * *

Blaine was physically and emotionally drained after almost a month of _Les Miserables _rehearsals. His scenes with Tina were awkward because every time he looked at her, Blaine knew she was thinking of him all freaked out in the bathroom at Rachel's. And Santana, in particular, was difficult to work with. She was never really in the scene, constantly had stipulations for playing her part or else she tried to control everything. It made his job harder. He found himself keeping a more than a respectful distance from Mike, because Coop's portrayal of Enjolras was just too vivid on the edges of his mind. And Blaine didn't even want to mention the tense moments when Kurt had to sing _Bring Him Home_ about Blaine, and carry him through a sewer, even though Kurt actually hated him, and probably would have let him die, if this were real. Needless to say, Blaine actually found himself grateful to walk into glee rehearsal on the first Tuesday in November, after nonstop theatre.

"Sue's Kids, how I've missed the stink of your fear!" Ms. Sylvester crowed as soon as they entered. "Somehow, the auditorium isn't quite the same as these agonizingly close quarters. While Coach Beiste and Edna are busy building and painting sets, I have the pleasure of molding young minds into exactly what I want you to be. And what do I want, from you?" Ms. Sylvester paused for what Blaine believed was dramatic effect and scrawled **EXCELLENCE/SONGS I WISH I WROTE **on the board.

"Can that even be a theme? It doesn't end in -ability?" Blaine asked, before he could think better of it.

"Are you questioning the leadership of General Zod?" Ms. Sylvester asked, waving the marker at Blaine.

"No, not at all. I was just noting the difference from the other theme weeks," Blaine hurried to explain.

"Good. As you'll see on this list, all these songs have to do with my favorite things: excelling, winning, victory, gold, and shouting." Ms. Sylvester explained. "Since we haven't met for a few weeks, we'll go back to the tried and true method I started with in September. Sixteen songs. First come, first served. As giddy as it made me to watch you all try to kill each other to get the song you wanted, this week, we're going to try something different. Something I like to call a _line_. But first, we will warm up, and practice our Sectionals songs, rotating Kurt, Mike and Quinn in the solo spots. Then, you will dance until you make the choreography look the way it _should_ look. If any of you should fail at applying excellence to your rehearsal today, you will be demoted to the back of the line to select your winning song for Thursday."

Blaine exhaled. This was going to be a long practice, but he poured himself into it, grateful, for once, that he was not forced into confronting Coop's last big role before it all came crashing down.

At the end of rehearsal, Tina was at the front of the line for song-selection, while Blaine was near the middle. He hoped there would be something suitable by the time he got there. As it turned out, he was very happy with his song choice. Now he just had to figure out how to apply Ms. Sylvester's criticism and get on the solo list.

* * *

Whenever Santana thought of her song for excellence week, visions of the movie, _School of Rock_ came instantly to mind. If she channeled that crazy principal, this would be an epic performance. Plus, hadn't Coach Sue told her to tell people off last time. What if she came in totally decked out and just killed the song? What if she got her name on the list? Did she even want to be on the list? She sure as hell didn't want their Sectionals chances dependent on Mike or Quinn. Hummel could probably make something work. He got the lead in the play after all. But what the solo list needed was a little Santana to spice it up. So she ate slept and breathed her song, looking up the meaning, learning all the lyrics and even hitting up Hummel to take her costume shopping for an '80s-looking white shawl, with fringe. Probably, the most shocking part of all, was finding out what the songwriter's intention was when she wrote it. Because it wasn't excellence or a fun song to sing when you're drunk, like Santana had always thought. This song was written after the songwriter lost a family member, and a friend lost someone, in the same week. The songwriter didn't know how to help the friend out, so she wrote this song. It seemed way more appropriate to her circumstances than Santana originally thought. Having learned the story being the song, Santana thought of CB and dropped him a line on Thursday during lunch.

_Doing a thing in honor of you today. No details, so don't ask. Just know it's being done and it's awesome. HSM._

* * *

Blaine got the notification from _Hope & Healing _in the midst of a totally boring English lecture. He'd read the book already. So, he slid his phone under his desk and checked it out. HSM. Of course.

_Thanks. I'm honored and my day is officially made. CB._

Whenever Blaine had any time, he pulled up clips of his song, and the movie it was from on his phone. He had his costume (in the actual sense, because he wasn't using it to hide) in the same overnight bag he'd taken to Rachel's weeks ago, except now it was empty except of what he needed. After school, Blaine spent hours in the guys' restroom psyching himself up. This was going to be his hardest performance yet, because he was determined to be as real as possible with it. The song didn't convey excellence in the typical way, but it was about seizing a moment and choosing to move beyond fear.

So, Blaine would do just that. Take a risk. No hair gel. Just sweats and a beater and himself. If he messed up, then it wasn't excellence, but if he didn't show himself none of it would really matter.

When he walked in, he was shocked to see that no one else really dressed their part. Except maybe Kurt and Santana, but to be honest, Blaine couldn't really tell.

"Well, Sue's Kids. What did you learn about excellence this week?" Ms. Sylvester quizzed.

"It's damn hard," Mercedes said honestly.

"That's what I like to hear!" Ms. Sylvester smiled. "Now, should I take volunteers or pick someone at random. Finn! I choose you! Get up there and show me what you can do!"

Blaine watched carefully as Finn performed, knowing full well that it was possible to be taught even by the most unlikely of people. Finn's song suited him, and he sang it well - convincingly even. Ms. Sylvester seemed impressed, which meant Blaine would have to work even harder to let her know he could do this.

Puck was up next, and while his song choices didn't seem to vary much, Blaine had to admit that he knew what he was capable of and in his own niche he was fantastic. He, too, owned his space and challenged his audience. Despite the song's seemingly simple message, Puck was able to elevate it to another level.

Mercedes followed, and looked defeated walking up, but completely transformed about halfway through the song to the performer Blaine had come to know her to be. Singing was like oxygen to her, and Mercedes couldn't go halfway on a performance if she tried. She was always determined to give it her all, no matter what, which Blaine admired.

Then Sam was called and he seemed a little lost. So instead of taking constructive notes from his performance, Blaine filed these under _What Not to Do_. Though if Blaine was fair, Sam did have a lot on his plate. More than most, with school, and his siblings and his situation the way it was financially. So, in the end, Blaine did take away something valuable from Sam's performance. He would do his best.

It was a good thing Blaine was taking such copious mental notes, but not so good when he heard Ms. Sylvester calling his name and sounding impatient.

"Blaine. You wanna join us in showing us your excellence or your laziness? Take off your space helmet and join the earthlings."

He flushed, and stood up, taking his place behind the microphone and breathing deeply. He felt the music of the band in his body, and he made sure to make eye-contact with every single person in the room, even Ms. Sylvester. Especially Ms. Sylvester. And for once, Blaine just sang. No silly gestures. No jumping on the furniture. No cheesy dance moves. When he was finished, he sat down and waited for the next name to be called.

Mike stumbled through his number, in an uncharacteristic move and actually stopped halfway through, asking to start over. When he couldn't get back on track even then, he just left the room and didn't come back, even when Ms. Sylvester sent Sam to retrieve him. Blaine knew that between the play and Mike's dad pressuring him to give up dance, things were hard right now, and Blaine just hoped that Mike would be able to get his footing under him. Some things were worth fighting for.

Ms. Sylvester called Tina next, who killed her selection, dressed like a flower child. It made sense given that Tina had first pick from the song list, but still. Hers was the only song thus far where at the end, the rest of the room was on their feet, clapping and singing along. If that wasn't excellence, Blaine didn't know what was.

Blaine's heart clutched as Kurt gave an absolutely adorable rendition of his song - a selection from a musical Blaine had seen thousands of times - and that surely made an impact on Ms. Sylvester if Blaine remembered talk of her sister's funeral correctly. Kurt embodied the childlike spirit, but also never failed to hit the notes exactly, despite having to learn the most songs of anyone in the entire cast of _Les Miserables - _a jaw-dropping twenty-six.

Santana was next, wearing something like a curtain and singing her song with a tenderness and vulnerability that Blaine wasn't expecting. He didn't think anyone else expected it either. Being what the song was, and where most of them knew it from, Blaine was pretty sure they all expected a more brash or humorous take on it. But that's not what Santana gave at all. Blaine sat stunned as it came to an end. Between Tina, Kurt Santana (and he guessed himself) this would be a tough week of judging.

It was getting tougher each week to see any kind of redeeming quality to little Sugar's voice, but her commitment was impressive as always. Even if she couldn't sing her way out of a paper bag, she threw her whole self into it and always gave one-hundred percent.

When Quinn sang the opening four words of her song, and Blaine overheard Ms. Sylvester whisper that she was "horny with pride" he knew it was over. The rest didn't have a chance. Quinn had the anger. She had the costume. She had the commitment. She had an obvious dancer's body and wasn't afraid to move. Her performance proved that no one was a sure thing and that it wasn't over until the last performer went up.

Rory was impossible to understand, and appeared under the weather as well. Blaine had to sympathize. But at the same time, the theme was excellence and he wasn't powering through. Blaine stopped himself short. Would _he _be able to power through something so far away from his family and friends, where the culture was different and he was made fun of every day? Blaine felt regret, but couldn't shake the feeling that this was not up to Ms. Sylvester's standards.

As far as Blaine was concerned, Artie and Rachel were also right up there with the best of the night. Artie was intense and had clearly gained confidence since winning the role of Javert, where Rachel didn't need confidence. Her voice stood on its own, a master class in talent and technique, no matter the style.

To finish the evening, Joe did a sweet, slow version of an '80s classic that kind of lost its punch and Brittany had them all laughing and singing along as she successfully sang every note of her song with more self-assurance than Blaine had ever seen. More impressive, she didn't rely on her dancing at all. She just stood at the microphone and delivered.

"Well, Sue's kids! That was a fifty percent rousing success and a fifty percent colossal failure. Noah, Tina, Kurt, Santana, Quinn Blaine, Artie and Rachel! You're all in the basement. Everyone else? Sub-basement. No whining about it. Do better next time. The theme was excellence. The winner of excellence week also known as the week of songs that I, Sue Sylvester, wish I wrote is…Santana Lopez! Get your sweet little can up to that board and add your name to my ever-growing list of champions. Your grasp of that song…was impressive."

Blaine's eyebrows went up. He'd been expecting Quinn to take it again. Or Kurt. Or Rachel. He even held out a tiny bit of hope for himself, but it wasn't to be. Still, Blaine stopped by the piano for his comment card, which read:

_I'm seeing more of you. You're on the right track. More focus next time and you've got it made._

**Track Listing for Excellence Week:**

**Artie Abrams - Winner by Jamie Foxx**

**Blaine Anderson - Lose Yourself by Eminem**

**Rachel Berry - The Winner Takes It All by ABBA**

**Mike Chang - Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now by Starship**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - Hair/Let the Sunshine In from Hair**

**Sam Evans - Remember The Name by Fort Minor**

**Quinn Fabray - We Built This City by Starship**

**Rory Flannigan - Winner by Pet Shop Boys**

**Joe Hart - Eye of the Tiger by Suvivor**

**Finn Hudson - Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears**

**Kurt Hummel - I've Got a Golden Ticket from Charlie & The Chocolate Factory**

**Mercedes Jones - Thunderstruck by AC/DC**

**Santana Lopez - Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks**

**Sugar Motta - A Long Way to the Top by AC/DC**

**Brittany Pierce - Sweet Victory by Spongebob**

**Noah Puckerman - Shout, Shout, Let It All Out by Tears for Fears**


	5. Mind Games

Playing Eponine was everything Santana was afraid it would be. Not the lines, exactly, but any part of the character that she internalized during the rehearsals. If she wanted to do a decent job, and not piss off Coach Sylvester, that meant putting her all into it. Really investing in it. And _that _meant Santana's nightmares got even more intense. She would be at play practice until late, and then hang around online, waiting for CB. He seemed less talkative now, which wasn't ideal for her.

Really, the only one who had ever known about her nightmares had been her mom. Even her mom hadn't known how far reaching they were. The Candy Land dreams were nothing compared to some of the others. The Candy Land dreams were safe to share with certain other people. She could never admit when she dreamed of freaky, empty rooms. Or when she dreamed of roaches crawling on her. Sometimes, she dreamed of being so hungry she thought about eating unimaginable stuff. The thing was, she wouldn't wake up thinking of Eponine. She'd wake up thinking of her life before she moved here. Her life in Lima Heights Adjacent.

See, the role was just too close. Because Santana's biological mom wasn't able to care for her, and she was out of the picture by the time Santana was three years old. Then, her abuela came into the picture. That's when Santana's life went from bad to worse. She went from not having enough to eat, and being left on her own, to losing her name, and almost being sold to creepy people for money. For most people, Puck and Quinn's parts as those assholes was just comedy and slightly disconcerting. For Santana, it was terrifying. For Santana, it _was_ her life at one time, and she couldn't stand to keep doing it. She couldn't help but wonder what Maribel might have done about this if she were alive. Santana couldn't help thinking that she might have intervened somehow. Maybe told the coaches and Miss P. that she wasn't allowing Santana to play this particular part on some weird mom grounds. But that would never happen now, because Santana was on her own.

Thank God, the show went on this weekend. She wouldn't mention it to her dad, because she knew he worked anyway, and he never had time for her before, so why would he start now? She was just determined to get through the weekend in one piece. As it was, for a week beforehand, Santana kept having awful nightmares, where she woke in cold sweats, feeling exhausted and like she had just barely escaped something too scary to put words to. The truth was, Santana was barely sleeping at all now. Maybe three hours a night.

Tuesday morning was like that. She woke up and her eyes were wet. Her heart was pounding. And with a sinking heart, she knew she could never write CB about this. It was too deep. Santana groped under her mattress and pulled out the journal, flipping the pages, and trying to read the pages through blurry eyes. Her chest felt heavy. She didn't know if she could do this. The play was three days away. Her eyes fell on an entry dated December 7th, 2010, less than a year before:

_Dear Santana,_

_I don't know why I'm writing this now, but if you are scared, know I'm always with you. If you need to talk about anything, please talk to me. I may not be able to talk back in a traditional sense, but I will always be there to listen. If you are scared about the future, know that I would never allow you around anything that could hurt you, even now. Yes, you are in control of your life. Choices are yours to make. But I will protect you as you make those choices. As you do all the new things in your life, you might not be sure of. Remember, to trust those around you. Trust Dad and trust your friends who love you. Whatever is worrying you, or making you afraid, I'm here, mija. Love, Mom._

Santana choked out a sob and threw the journal across the room. Sure, she could say she was here, but she wasn't, was she? She was somewhere else. Somewhere Santana could never reach. She didn't look at the clock. She didn't look at anything. Santana just buried herself under her covers and tried to forget about everything.

It didn't matter that she'd won Coach Sue's assignment last week. It didn't matter that the comment card was still in the bottom of her bag somewhere with the others, except the first one she'd thrown away. It didn't matter that Coach had written:

_You just raised your own bar. Don't lower it again. I can tell you researched, and that means something. It means you're beginning to get it. You're learning to connect and get real. Keep it up._

It didn't matter. Because she couldn't keep it up.

* * *

Blaine could hardly keep his eyes open during Sue's Kids. Rehearsals were going late into the night, and the kids were often kept even later to help with sets and costumes. Performances were right around the corner, and Blaine felt nowhere near ready.

"Welcome, Sue's Kids, to your own personal agony. Now, as much as some of you would like this week to be about whatever horrifying things go on behind the closed doors of horny teenagers - Finn and Rachel, I'm not being subtle and neither are you - I have plenty of horrors in my life, I'm not about to add that to the list. So, instead, I would like to introduce this week's theme."

Blaine watched, incredulous as Ms. Sylvester scrawled **MIND GAMES **in pink sharpie on the whiteboard.

"Excuse me? But what kind of a theme is playing games with our minds?" Rory asked honestly.

"It's _genius_." Ms. Sylvester smiled a little. "As you know, our school musical, _Les Miserables_, is this weekend. Those of you who aren't in it are required to sit in the audience and take notes during at least one of the performances…"

"So, are you gonna screw with our minds, or what?" Puck demanded. "Otherwise, I got stuff I could be doing."

"Oh. Like what? Scaring my little sister? Or teaching my little brother that it's cool to disrespect people?" Sam insisted, turning an angry glare in Puck's direction.

"I didn't scare Stacey on purpose, man. It was in the script. 'Thenardier touches Cosette's hair creepily' or some crap. I didn't hurt her, dude. And Stevie _wanted _to see if he could hide a toy snake in Joe's dreads. _He_ came to _me_."

"Found it last night," Joe commented softly, handing the toy to Sam.

"Enough jibba-jabba!" Ms. Sylvester interjected. "This week, my mind game is for all of you to learn a song from this list…of songs from the 1996 musical, _RENT_."

"Oh my God! Yes!" Rachel cheered. "I'll be reprising _Take Me or Leave Me_ with Mercedes!"

"No, you'll pick a song in the order you're called, and perform it solo," Ms. Sylvester commented. "Santana, you won last week's challenge. Get up here and pick a song."

Blaine tried to keep his eyes open as she called all the previous winners next. Then, she surprised him by calling his own name. Taking her feedback about focus into account, he reacted quickly, rushing to the list and scanning it. Nothing on it really felt right, but Ms. Sylvester kept pushing him to make a selection, so he did, jotting his name down beside a song that made his heart sink.

"A note to all of you. Some of these songs are dirty," Ms. Sylvester said, sounding surprisingly serious. "I love dirt as much as the next person, but as I said, I do not want to hear about my Sue's Kids singing about depravity and indecency. Whoever gets the song, _Contact_, it's your responsibility to cut down the lyrics to something reasonable. If you don't, you will either fail, _or_ I will bring you personally to your parents and force you to perform your offensive song choice in front of Mommy and Daddy. Maybe both, I haven't decided yet."

Sighing, Blaine did his very best to focus through a rehearsal riddled with tension and Ms. Sylvester barking out commands like, "_Feel _the music! All of you look like Brittany did when I threatened to shoot her out of that cannon last winter! Finn, stop watching your feet! How many times, Kurt? It's the three, not the five! Mike, you look like you'd rather be anywhere _but_ dancing. You'd better make up your mind and fast! Sectionals is less than a month away, and all of you are sloppy Sue's Kids babies!"

After Sue's Kids, it was rehearsal for _Les Miserables_, where they ran the show from beginning to end to be sure the orchestra, the technical crew and the actors all had their cues. Brittany was still patiently guiding Sugar through dance steps she should have had down a long time ago. Artie was still having a difficult time navigating the ramp that was supposed to enable him to climb the barricade. And when Kurt was supposed to carry Blaine after everyone at the barricade died, Blaine could not hang limply to save his own life. Memories of Coop were everywhere, and he still did his best to stay clear of Mike, but it was hard, when Blaine and Mike shared important scenes. By the time rehearsal was over, Blaine was exhausted, but he couldn't help feeling a little glad. Being busy was exactly what he needed. At this rate, when he walked in the door well after 11:00 p.m., his parents were in bed, and Blaine could at least hope that he'd be too tired to sleepwalk.

He had no energy to brush up on his _RENT _song, not when his two biggest _Les Mis_ numbers going through his head. He thought about writing HSM, but what would he say? His entire life had become an exercise in avoiding memories of his brother? He was running himself into the ground instead of letting himself feel anything? He was desperately trying to prove to his parents and himself that he wouldn't end up like his brother, but they didn't seem to care?

By Wednesday, Blaine knew he needed to get his song for Sue's Kids ready. During lunch, he pulled up performances and lyrics on his phone. He was poorly prepared, and doubted he would get much more rehearsal time in. School until 2:30, and then play practice until whenever. Blaine would be lucky to get to bed before midnight. Thursday, he had the rough draft of a paper due, which he had yet to even start.

A text came to his phone then.

_So…are you going to let me carry you on show nights or are we going to look like idiots?_

12:35PM Wed, Nov 9

From: Kurt

Before Blaine could think better of it, he responded:

_You really think you can save me._

12:36PM Wed, Nov 9

From: Blaine

Blaine's phone buzzed in his hand, and he stared at it. For the first time in six months, Kurt was calling him. Slowly, Blaine picked up.

"Hello?"

"Blaine, what the hell is that supposed to mean? We're going on in forty-eight hours and you're being all cryptic and moody! I know I've spent a long time being angry, but can you blame me? Besides which, that's not the point. The point is, you need to get whatever this is off your chest before the show."

"Wow… Thanks for the pep talk…" Blaine commented bitterly. "You wouldn't understand."

"You know what, Blaine? I _wouldn't_! You know why? Because I don't go around _alienating_ people I claim to _love_."

"No, of course not," Blaine spat. "You're totally perfect, I forgot."

"Oh, would you just give up on this sad, martyr, feel-bad-for-me thing? It's not working! It's never going to work! We're over and _you _chose that. Not me. I thought we might still be able to work together as professionals and I hope to God that's true, because there is no way I am lugging _Finn_ across the stage in your place!"

"Fine!" Blaine exclaimed. "It's obviously too much for you to even try to see things from my side, I get it. Just tell me what you want from me. I can't read your mind."

"I want you to _move forward_," Kurt stressed. "I don't hate you. I don't wish you any harm or a terrible demise. I just want you to move on, Blaine. Don't stay stuck. We've got a show to do and I need to know I can count on you. As a coworker."

"Yes, you can count on me," Blaine finished quietly. "You can always count on me."

"All right," Kurt finished. "I have to go. Madame Brown is giving me the evil eye from my French classroom."

And just like that, Blaine was listening to the dial tone.

* * *

Santana had never expected to smile be able to crack a smile less than six months after losing her mom, but helping Brittany through her _RENT _song after Wednesday night _Les Mis _rehearsal was too much to get through without laughing. She and Quinn were at Britt's house, and Santana brought the 2005 film, to give Britt a more concrete idea of what was happening leading up to her number.

The song Santana had picked had been on already and seemed simple it was pathetic. Quinn's own was still upcoming. When Britt's song began, she got up off the bed, and walked closer to the TV, squinting. And then, deliberately and perfectly, Brittany began to imitate the actress on screen. Santana had forgotten that part of what made Britt a great dancer was her ability to mimic body language, tone and overall execution. While Brittany was taking notes from her character double, encouraging Santana and Quinn to join her and participate in a ridiculous chant, Santana threw a pillow at her.

"I can do that, no problem," Brittany nodded confidently. "Hey, doesn't that lady look a lot like Miss Corcoran?" she asked.

"No," Quinn answered shortly, though in Santana's mind they were dead ringers for each other. They let Quinn skip ahead to the scene her own song was in, and Santana tried to put herself somewhere else. Unlike hers and Brittany's songs, Quinn's was sadder. It was about losing everything that had ever mattered. Santana wondered if she was thinking about Beth, while she watched the screen and mouthed the words.

It was good to hang out with the Unholy Trinity again. But it didn't fill the hole in Santana's heart. Just like Santana knew it didn't help Quinn get what she wanted more than anything. But at least Beth was alive and being taken care of. A couple times, Santana almost let it slip, like when Britt's mom came in and asked if Judy and Maribel wanted to go out to dinner to celebrate after the play. A mother-daughter date at Breadstix.

"My mom can't," Quinn shook her head, saving Santana and not even knowing it.

"Yeah, mine either," Santana nodded, standing quickly to gather her stuff and get the hell out of there before anyone saw her tears.

_Hey CB here's a joke for you: my mom got invited out for dinner this weekend. It's been almost six months. Funny, huh? Who knew she was so popular? Except not really, since not one of my friends or their moms know my mom is gone. Sitting in my car trying not to totally break down. Every single freakin' day has moments like this. Moments I hate. Moments when I have to lie my ass off. How do you do it? How can I keep doing it? How the hell can I get through this?_

* * *

Thursday morning, Blaine found a new message from HSM and quickly typed out a response as he was preparing for the day and ignoring the absolute silence from the direction of Coop's room by drowning it out with Roxy music.

_HSM, I'll give you advice that someone just gave me: move forward. We just keep moving forward because we have to. Because life doesn't stop for us. I'm sorry I don't have more time to write but this weekend is going to be ridiculously busy. You're in my thoughts as always, though, and I'll be here whenever you need me. CB._

The only thing Blaine was grateful for, was having transferred out of the English class where he already knew the entire curriculum. Now he had an hour-long study hall to try and catch up on everything he had to do during the day.

Immediately after school it was _Les Mis_ practice where Joe got so nervous before singing a line that he vomited. Rachel was overdoing everything, Tina was so nervous a stutter that she had apparently faked for years came on for real. Artie toppled out of his chair during the big confrontation scene between Javert and Jean Valjean and Ms. Sylvester yelled at them to save it for the show. Stevie and Stacey were everywhere and Sam couldn't keep up with both of them. Worst of all, Blaine still had absolutely no confidence that Kurt wouldn't drop him on his head, and he had no chemistry at all with Santana Lopez, who was reciting her lines as fast as possible, never quite looking him in the eye. Well, he guessed it made rehearsal easier in a way. At least he wasn't constantly distracted thinking of Coop.

By the time Sue's Kids came around Blaine was frustrated. It was eight minutes until practice and there was no way Blaine would be able to completely change for the part so he ran to his locker and retrieved the red and gray striped scarf he wore to school that morning and then ran back to the room in time to hear Rachel's name called.

She was brilliant. There was no other word for it. Rachel always sang confidently, but she had a command of these lyrics like she had been singing them all her life. She played them to the audience, completely losing Fantine and embracing this new cast of characters, their joy, their pain, and their love.

Mike was up next, dancing to the electric guitar riffs expertly, like someone trying to avoid cracks in a sidewalk. This, plus the haunting lyrics of his song made it stand out from the crowd. Blaine found that for the first time in weeks, he could look at Mike and not cringe, thinking about Coop. Now, he was just Mike, expertly applying a song about loss and grief to his own love of dancing, and potentially having to give that up.

Next was Sugar, who warbled her way pretty impressively through her own song, which, unbeknownst to her was a duet. Blaine had it on good authority that Rachel still took her coaching duties of Sugar very seriously, and it was clear they were slowly paying off. She was certainly the only one so far to try playing two roles and doing so with a reasonable amount of success. She even smartly replaced a word in the lyrics with another less offensive one.

Santana's song went by so quickly, Blaine barely had the chance to register it. He couldn't help thinking she had picked it because of its short length. Perhaps she was trying to take the easiest one and execute it without much effort. Still, Blaine couldn't deny her talent. She won last week, even with the strange outfit, so he didn't put anything past her.

Blaine was mildly shocked to see Rory get up and introduce Kurt, in a long Santa coat and drum sticks. It was clear he'd gotten drumming help from Finn, and he danced impressively, embracing the playful sensibility of the song.

Mercedes was next and worked her song before she even started singing, strutting around the piano. She didn't do anything showy, but clearly committed to the vocals. If Blaine dared, he might even say Mercedes was more impressive than anyone else he'd heard in the role. She flirted playfully with the guys in the room, taking their hands and spinning them around. The dark undertones were lost a little, when she took little Stevie Evans by the hand and danced sweetly with him. But she was pitch perfect on a song that was difficult to hit.

Then came Tina, who was losing her voice at the most inopportune time, but somehow still managed to hit every single note in her song. She was someone who had faded into the background for Blaine at first, but over time, she proved she was a force to be reckoned with, especially in the chorus on her song, where Tina was absorbed in it and totally conveyed it to the audience.

Joe gave a chilling and honest performance of his song. He shocked everyone, Ms. Sylvester included, by mashing his song up with another not on the list. But they complimented each other perfectly. His eyes were haunted and yearning made the pain in the lyrics totally palpable. Blaine would have thought this musical a little too racy for someone as sheltered as Joe, but somehow, Blaine had no doubt that Joe had watched it. And more than that, he had understood it.

Puck messed up almost from the beginning of his song, dancing in a suggestive way that made Ms. Sylvester scowl. In fact, she actually cut off his performance early, before it could get too out there.

Rory gave a sweet rendition of his song, and managed to make the duet sound like a solo. He didn't move around much, but he was clearly gaining confidence over the months in here, and when he lost his place, he recovered quickly and was able to finish.

Brittany's performance was strange, quirky and absolutely perfect, getting audience participation from the audience, and even managing to leave in the racier parts of her lyrics without protest by Ms. Sylvester.

Finn gave a subdued and better than usual performance of his song, but missing some sharps and flats. He looked pleased with himself when he was finished, but Blaine couldn't help thinking of the unnatural way Finn always managed to die at the barricade in _Les Mis_.

When Artie came forward, Blaine braced himself. He had the song that Ms. Sylvester warned about specifically earlier in the week, and Blaine breathed a little easier when he seamlessly avoided the entire opening section and only took the haunting refrain repeating it until it broke the hearts of everyone around him.

Quinn actually choked up within notes of her song and could not get it together again. But she stayed there and kept trying until it ended. Blaine watched, open-mouthed, as Brittany and Santana stood at the same time and went to her, wrapping their arms around her. Ms. Sylvester didn't even say anything, though Stevie did ask Quinn loudly why she was crying.

Unfortunately, next, Blaine heard his own name called. So, he stood up, exchanging brief words with Ms. Sylvester about using the word _hell_ in his lyrics, especially since the Evans kids were sitting in rehearsal. Stevie had been redirected by Sam, who was encouraging him to practice his Gavroche, which meant Stevie was now addressing everyone in a cockney accent. Stacey had curled up on some coats in the corner and was fast asleep.

"Fine. It's nothing they haven't heard before," Ms. Sylvester insisted.

So Blaine took a deep breath, and began, scarf securely around his neck. He played it on the piano, though it was originally done on guitar, and poured himself into it. Though the song itself was short, it packed a punch. While he sang it, he remembered Coop's funeral. He remembered getting drunk afterward, and embarrassing his parents, who were already grieving. But what about him? That feeling made it easy to embrace this character instead of Marius. For once, Blaine didn't think about the list, or getting a solo. For once, it didn't matter.

Sam was up last with his guitar playing a sweet and sad rendition of his song. He spoke every person's line, cleverly replacing "shit" with "it" for the sake of his siblings. He had the complicated tempo down and transitioned seamlessly from the angst of the funeral Blaine had just portrayed to two of the friends left behind. It was beautiful. It was heartbreaking, and Blaine was glad it wasn't his job to determine who got their name on the list of soloists this week.

For Ms. Sylvester, the choice seemed easy enough. "Rachel Berry. Add your name to my list of winners. This is not only for your own excellent work, but for helping your protégé improve week after week. Sugar, congratulations, you didn't make my ears bleed quite as heavily this week. Comment cards are on the piano. Come ready to practice tomorrow afternoon. Showtime is just around the corner!"

Blaine flipped through the stack, inadvertently glancing at Santana's in the process. (_Two steps forward, one step back. Ironic song choice, don't you think?) _Finally, he found his own, nearly the last in the pile: _Better focus, but look up once in a while. Connect with your audience. You were clearly experiencing something. Don't be afraid to let us share in that._

* * *

By Sunday evening, Santana felt ready to collapse. But this was their last performance. By now, they had done three others, and she could have played Eponine in her sleep. In fact, Santana was pretty sure she had been reciting lines in her sleep lately. How embarrassing.

Backstage, things were chaotic as Santana rushed to get ready. She did her own makeup, making herself look dirty. She'd had Brittany attack her hair with a ratting comb already, so it was appropriately gross. As usual, she didn't really register anything until Act 2, after the students built a barricade in the street and Marius sent a stupid goodbye letter to Cosette through Eponine. Eponine ends up walking the streets of Paris late at night. Every performance she had ever seen of this number had been overly dramatic and pretty. And from day one, Santana had vowed not to do that. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, prepared to sing _On My Own_, and listened. In the back of her mind, she heard that voice again. The one that sounded like her mom. _You can do this. Just show them how you feel._

So, instead of singing it perfectly on pitch, as she had the first few times, Santana let herself mess up. She didn't hit everything exactly right. Santana let the emotion overcome her, but not too much. She stared out into the audience. She imagined her mom somewhere out there. She sang to her about how alone she felt, and yeah, in her mind, she replaced any reference to Marius with the thought of her mom. It brought her exactly where she needed to be emotionally.

It was devastating. But she needed to get ready to die. She didn't have time to upset.

She waited for her next cue. That meant Mike had to sing, Stevie had to sing, and Artie had to somehow get over the barricade - something that had consistently given him trouble. He didn't trust the ramp beneath him, both going up and coming down. It felt wrong, he said, and he could never fully trust it. He'd done it the other performances, but just barely.

"Crap. How am I gonna do this?" he muttered under his breath from the other side of the large prop, where Santana lurked. Stevie was almost done singing.

The decision was almost too easy. "Just go around," she whispered. "If you get in trouble for it, blame me." So, Artie rushed to come around the barricade just in time, and moments later, she heard it. The line about the boy climbing the barricade.

She ended up near Anderson, who yelled at her just like he was supposed to. What was she doing? Did she drop off the letter? Santana said her own lines locking eyes with him for one of the first times ever, and let emotion take over again. This time, when she sang, _A Little Fall of Rain_, she cried real tears. This time, so did he. Let the audience think it was because they were brilliant. She knew Anderson wasn't. And as far as Santana? Well, she was wishing that she had been able to reassure her mom like this in her last moments, instead of just saying something off-hand and watching TV while it happened. When it was over, she just had to lie there in Anderson's arms and listen to him and Mike sing a creepy one-note song about her dying.

Then, she was carried off.

* * *

Blaine felt totally destroyed, but not for the reasons everyone thought. Because everywhere he looked, especially in the second act, he imagined Coop next to him, not Mike. In his mind's eye, Coop was giving him advice. Sometimes it was weird. _Point here, for emphasis_. And sometimes it was more helpful. _The key to great acting isn't just acting emotion, it's feeling that emotion. _

So, when he held Santana in his arms…when she looked at him…and actually cried…he couldn't help it either. He let himself feel everything, from the devastating loss to the confusion of the conversation between Kurt as Valjean and Mike as Enjolras. And total grief again, as little Gavroche volunteered.

Little Stevie Evans may not have known all the subtleties of acting, but he definitely had potential. He may not have known about pointing or ignoring your scene partner or any of the other bad advice Coop had given him at the end. But Stevie knew how to commit to the part. For his last scene, he scaled that barricade with excitement, and then kept fighting on the other side until he absolutely couldn't anymore. He actually reminded Blaine a lot of the videos he'd seen of Coop at the same age.

He hoped Sam knew he had an amazing brother.

* * *

Backstage, Santana could not stop crying. It was ridiculous. This wasn't real. She knew it wasn't. That wasn't the point. The point was, they were doing too good a job portraying this stupid play and all it stood for. There was no justice in this kind of world, or the world she lived in. A world where kids go hungry and are forced to fend for themselves on the streets. A world where kids are so brave it hurt. A world where little boys died with more courage than some grown men.

"Hey," Quinn said, scaring the shit out of Santana in her snaggletooth makeup and fugly costume. "Are you all right?"

"Just get the hell away from me," Santana whispered. There was literally no room backstage. Every inch was full of actors or racks of costumes or tech people. The last thing she needed was to be crowded.

Suddenly, Santana felt herself being embraced from behind and stiffened. It wasn't Quinn, who had taken a step back. It was Britt, whispering some nonsense in her ear.

"At first I thought he was really hurt, too, but then Sam explained it. Just like how I pretend to be a prostitute, Stevie's just pretending when he falls down like that. He's not really gone. So, it's okay. I promise," Brittany cooed.

Santana couldn't deal with all this crap, especially when she overheard Quinn quietly calling Stevie over to where they stood.

"Why is she crying?" he wondered, and Santana could practically hear the smile fall from his face.

"Because you did such a good job in that scene, that I think she's sad. That makes you a great actor," Quinn encouraged.

"We're supposed to be brother and sister. Did you know? Artie said. He said we're both your kids and you and Puck were mean to us and kicked us out. If I lost my brother, I'd be sad, too. I know I was sad when _she _died," he said seriously. Santana imagined him gesturing at her, somehow too uncomfortable to use her name. "You know, when she climbed over the barricade and they thought she was a boy."

Through her tears, Santana vaguely remembered that Quinn, Sam and the kids all went to the same church. She knew them, and had helped the family, especially last year. Sometimes, she forgot the kind of friend Quinn could be when you really needed her.

By now, Santana was trying to pull her shit together. But when Stevie freakin' Evans ran up and squeezed her around the waist and _stayed there_? She knew she was screwed. So Santana just listened as the play went on, and she fell apart, with this little kid hanging onto her for dear life.

* * *

Blaine almost couldn't do it. Maybe, if his parents had come it would have been easier. Maybe he could have summoned some strength from somewhere. But now? He sat at the tiny table and looked out at the audience, unsure if he could make any sound at all.

He had asked his parents to come tonight. Told them they were doing a high school production of _Les Mis_, just like Coop had done with the local theatre. But his mother had looked away and his father mumbled something about having to work. His mother later admitted it would make them both too sad to watch the last play Cooper was in. Reminders of him would be too much.

_What about reminders of me?_ he'd wanted to ask.

Looking out in the audience, Blaine suddenly remembered the flower that had come his way before they took the stage. The tag attached read: _Once a Warbler, always a Warbler_. He'd imagined David making an executive decision about which flower they should pick and what the message should say.

His parents might not be in the audience tonight, but the Warblers were. He could sing to them.

So took a deep breath and opened his mouth, putting all the pain of seeing Coop's empty chair every single night into _Empty Chairs at Empty Tables_.

* * *

After the show, the atmosphere outside the auditorium was crazy. Now, everyone else was crying, while she had no more tears to shed. She didn't know who she was waiting for. No one had come to watch her. She hadn't even asked her dad about it, knowing his busy work schedule.

"Hey. Good job tonight." Anderson. Fantastic.

"Yeah, you too, or whatever," she said, shrugging.

"Did your parents show up?" he asked, with something like doubt in his voice.

"No," she told him coldly. "Did yours?"

"No. The Warblers came, though," he said, glancing over at the group of boys gathered around Hummel.

"To see him or you?" she asked.

"Maybe both of us, I'm not sure…" Blaine ventured.

"Hey, you two. Awesome death scene."

The sound of the new voice raised the hair up on Santana's neck.

"Santana Lopez, meet Sebastian Smythe," Blaine introduced way too formally.

"Wanna come out with me? Celebrate?" he asked bracing himself on the wall and, wiggling his eyebrows in an absolutely disgusting way.

"No, thanks. Rachel's having the last cast party at her house and I'm gonna head over there," Blaine said, making a quick escape.

Bravely, Santana met his eyes. "_I'll _go out with you." She said it like a challenge and he accepted it as one.

That's how Santana followed a guy she just met to a bar and got hammered. She let the music pulse through her. Lost herself on the dance floor. She didn't even notice she was in a gay bar until way later. She imagined her mom looking on, disappointed. But Santana just tipped her head back and took another drink.

After all, what else did she have to lose?

**Track Listing for Mind Games week (all songs from the musical, RENT)**

**Artie Abrams - Contact**

**Blaine Anderson - Halloween**

**Rachel Berry - Seasons of Love**

**Mike Chang - One Song Glory**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - Another Day**

**Sam Evans - Goodbye Love**

**Quinn Fabray - Without You**

**Rory Flannigan - I'll Cover You**

**Joe Hart - Life Support/Will I**

**Finn Hudson - I Should Tell You**

**Kurt Hummel - Today 4 U**

**Mercedes Jones - Out Tonight**

**Santana Lopez - We're Okay**

**Sugar Motta - Light My Candle**

**Brittany Pierce - Over The Moon**

**Noah Puckerman - Santa Fe**


	6. Actability

The party at Rachel's was enjoyable, but nothing could fully erase the presence of Coop's memory from Blaine's mind - especially when Mike was acting extra charming and sweet - exactly the way Coop might have after a high school performance. Hiram and Leroy did a fantastically nice thing by hosting the cast party. They even took Stevie and Stacey into account and let Sam know that he - and they - were welcome.

It would have been a great evening, if not for Finn's constant negativity. Now that it wasn't focused solely on Blaine, he seemed to have his sights set on Santana. He was in the corner of the Berrys basement, as far away from Rachel's dads as possible. Puck was near him, with a plate of cake, while they laughed at something on Finn's phone. Santana's name was mentioned often.

Blaine wouldn't have usually had a problem with this, but after tonight, after he and Santana had connected onstage, Blaine felt wrong about letting her name get dragged through the mud.

"What's funny?" he asked, approaching them, as if only curious.

"Santana's out whoring it up with one of your Warbler friends at a gay bar," Finn smirked, showing Blaine the screen with Sebastian's latest status update:

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_is totally loving that McKinley's own Shaqueera Lopez is slutting up Scandals._

Blaine's mouth dropped open in shock. He didn't know what to ask first. The question that came out was the last thing he expected. "Why are you friends with Sebastian?"

"Because! He was giving Kurt a hard time and as his brother, I gotta look out for him. This Sebastian kid seemed kind of sleazy. He friended me back. Dude, why are you staring at me like that?" Finn asked, suddenly irritated.

"Whatever. You're totally honorable," Blaine spat. "There for Kurt by insulting Santana? That's nice."

"Like you're really any better of a person than any of us, Anderson! We all know you're only looking out for number one!" Finn called at his back.

"What's happening?" Rachel wondered, walking over, a bottle of water in hand.

"Nothing," Finn reassured, pulling her onto his lap.

Blaine rolled his eyes, retreating back to the kitchen where he was just in time to see Kurt excusing himself graciously from the party.

"Kurt. Wait," Blaine protested. "You don't have to go because of me. I was just coming for more food. Then, I'll be out of the way."

Kurt sighed, digging his keys out of his pocket. Stage makeup was still thick on his face. "I'm not leaving because of you. I'm leaving because Wes just texted me that Santana's at Scandals with Sebastian-"

"I know," Blaine interjected.

"You _know_," Kurt repeated slowly.

"He invited me first. When I turned him down, Santana took him up on it."

Kurt's eyes narrowed and he dropped his voice to a whisper. "So, you knew the creepy new guy took one of us to a gay bar, but you didn't think that was something we should act on?"

Blaine was struck silent again, as much by Kurt's words as Mike's engaging way of making everyone around him laugh by recounting a strange dream wherein his calculus problems came alive and danced for him.

"How is this my fault?!" he exclaimed. "It's not like you and Santana are particularly close. She's old enough to make her own calls in life."

"She's at a _bar_!" Kurt hissed. "A bar where she is probably the only female there."

"Scandals is a gay bar," Blaine supplied calmly. "No one would mess with her there. No one there is her type."

"I'm pretty sure Sebastian will make out with anyone," Kurt said hurrying out the door.

"Wait, Kurt! Let me come with you!" Blaine insisted, running after him and jumping into the passenger seat. Kurt didn't protest, just floored the gas and took off.

The radio played a Bruno Mars song from the Twilight movies soundtrack, but Blaine didn't sing along. His stomach twisted with regret. What kind of coworker was he to allow Santana to get into this kind of a situation? She and Kurt weren't even close and Kurt was doing a much better job at looking out for her than Blaine had ever done. All their connection on stage meant next to nothing after all. The least he could do was go along and have Kurt's back to make sure nothing happened to him. Santana was pretty intense, and Blaine imagined that only got worse when she drank. He remembered her vaguely from another party at Rachel's last year. She'd cried a lot over breaking up with Sam Evans.

It took forever to get there and Blaine didn't even think to ask how Kurt knew the way to a place like Scandals. At the door, Kurt flashed a fake ID and Blaine pulled one of his own from his wallet.

_You'll thank me for this one day_, Coop had said after Blaine had found it in his wallet and demanded to know what a picture of a 28-year-old Hawaiian guy was doing tucked next to Blaine's Dalton Academy school identification.

Sebastian and Santana were easy enough to spot. She was the only girl in the place, and she and Sebastian were on the dance floor, dirty dancing in a way that was too gross even for the 1980s movie. Blaine moved quickly to keep up with Kurt, who was leading the way through the crowd. He found himself glad he had not taken Sebastian up on his offer to come here. Blaine knew in a second he wouldn't have been able to resist the temptation of the bar, and after Coop's funeral…well…he couldn't afford to embarrass his parents again.

They had finally bridged the distance between them and Santana - close enough now that Blaine could clearly see Sebastian sliding his hands under Santana's shirt, and hear him talk about "all the things he could do to her…" Santana herself appeared barely able to stay upright, completely at the mercy of someone who only had his own best interests in mind.

"Party's over," Kurt announced, taking Santana's arm and guiding her away, even as she mumbled and tried sloppily to hold onto Sebastian.

"Well, well, well… If it isn't Mother Teresa and Princess Diana here to rescue Shaqueera the damsel _not_ in distress. Leave us the hell alone, ladies. We're having a magical night. Tell them, J. Lo,"

"I love him," Santana insisted, her words slurring dangerously.

"You love the _idea _of him," Kurt insisted, propping a protesting Santana up between Blaine and himself. "Though for the life of me, I have no idea why…"

"Move it, Wonder Twins," Santana urged loudly. "I'm here voluntarily… I don't need you to save me…"

"You heard the lady…though if we're being honest, _lady_ is a generous term for this one. Ask her what kind of freaky shit she's done before… Once a whore always a whore…" Sebastian said flippantly, shrugging. "If you boys want these damaged goods, you can have her. She was just a warm body." Sebastian shoved Santana, who had draped herself around his neck again, back toward them.

Blaine didn't think. He stepped between them, shielding Santana, clenched his fist and swung, knocking Sebastian's head back. Then, taking his cue from Kurt, Blaine disappeared in the crowd.

"You hurt him," Santana managed, blinking back tears. She lurched between them and Kurt stepped in and picked her up, determined to get her out of there as soon as possible.

"_He _hurt _you_," Blaine responded.

"Whatever, Anderson! You're so sensitive, it's insane! I was _fine_," she ranted as Kurt deposited her in the back seat of his car.

"Yeah, I see that," Blaine muttered under his breath.

"Don't antagonize her," Kurt grunted, shutting the back door firmly and walking around to get in the driver's side. "If you need to be sick, please aim for the trash bags and not my upholstery…"

"You two _nuns_ completely _ruined _my_ life_," Santana whined. "All I wanted to do was have some fun for one night."

"He was using you," Blaine told her abruptly, his tone clipped.

"Oh, like you Pretty Ponies have never been _used_," Santana snapped, her attitude suddenly vicious.

Blaine could only watch as Kurt focused on the road, swallowing once. Blaine had no doubt that Kurt was remembering being kissed against his will by Karofsky last year. The discomfort of the moment lasted too long and Blaine couldn't stay quiet anymore.

"Should we drop her off at her house?" he asked. "Do you know where she lives?"

"No," Santana moaned from the back seat. "My dad will kill me…"

"I can't keep her overnight," Blaine whispered. "_My _parents would kill _me_."

"Well, to avoid a bloodbath, I guess she can stay at my house," Kurt said regretfully just as Santana gagged and Kurt's phone vibrated. "Can you see who that is?" he asked Blaine, wrinkling his nose. "Santana, please tell me you used the bag…"

"What bag?" Santana managed pathetically just before she vomited again, on the floor, directly behind Kurt's seat.

"God…" Kurt breathed, opening all the windows, despite it being November.

"Maybe this isn't the ideal time to mention that Rachel's busy refining her talking points for the student elections…" Blaine offered softly. "Apparently, at Finn's suggestion, she's added school lunches to the list of possible topics."

"Finn?" Kurt asked, incredulous. "I've been talking about a healthier menu for months!"

"He's urging her to consider portion sizes, too. He says they're too small…" Blaine sighed.

"He _would_," Kurt scoffed.

"God, I hate Finn!" Santana exclaimed suddenly. "If I have to spend any time remotely _near him, _it's on," she threatened, sounding weak and tired at the idea of confronting anyone.

"Should make tonight interesting…" Blaine said, not even aware he was going to say it until the words were out of his mouth.

Despite everything, though, Kurt managed a small smirk. "I think I'm just gonna drop you back by Rachel's and head home with Santana."

They drove in silence for a few more minutes until the Berry's driveway came into view. By that time, Blaine's sympathetic stomach was in overdrive and he couldn't wait to get out of the car and leave this night as far behind him as possible.

"Thanks for the help. Great show tonight," Kurt offered.

"No problem. Be safe," Blaine urged, out of habit.

Then, he climbed in his own car and took off for home. He had never been more grateful for the late hour. He didn't know if he could have handled seeing his parents mourning, or his brother's face on the TV screen, especially after tonight. He disappeared up the stairs and took a long shower. He tried not to think of that evening and all of its strange twists. All he wanted to do was sleep.

But when he was in bed, Blaine found that he couldn't shut his brain off. So, he logged onto Hope & Healing and wrote HSM quickly.

_Just letting you know I'm more available now. If you need me, I'm here, as usual. Since I assume you'd probably ask how I am, if you could, suffice it to say, I am ready for today to be over. My parents…I don't even know what to say about them. They frustrate me. They disappoint me. They constantly choose my brother over me, even when he isn't here to choose. I don't know if I will ever be enough for them._

Blaine hit send and closed his eyes, trying to will away the image of both his parents asleep on the living room couch, the remote control in his dad's hand. He hadn't had to work late tonight after all. It had all been a huge excuse to avoid coming to the play tonight. But what else was new? Coop was always first. Blaine was always a distant second. He might never matter in the way Coop did. He had to get used to it.

* * *

By Tuesday, Santana still felt mildly hungover. She blamed whatever the hell that gargoyle-faced Warbler had given her at that bar. But at least this way, she was forced to think about more immediate things and not how much she missed her mom. She actually hadn't thought of her in several days. Not since the play. Right. That was why she _ended_ up going out with Sebastian in the first place.

Her memories of that night were foggy at best. But she remembered dancing. Kissing. She remembered his hands all over her and not even caring enough to say no. Nothing was really clear until she had come to at Hummel's house and felt simultaneously mortified and grateful. If she was here, she had to have embarrassed herself pretty badly, but by the same token, better Hummel's house than her own. Santana didn't want to think about what her dad would have to say about what she'd done. Sitting through Burt's lecture was enough to bring tears to her eyes, though she hadn't let them fall.

"_What the hell were you thinking?"_ he had demanded. When she stayed quiet out of habit, he hadn't relented. "_I'm serious. Kurt and Finn didn't come home trashed, because I know the Berrys don't serve alcohol to minors. So, I want you to tell me what you were thinking. No BS." _

"_I wasn't,"_ she had admitted.

"_Damn right you weren't,"_ Burt insisted.

"_Are you gonna tell my parents?"_ she had asked, still feeling woozy.

He had surprised her there. He wasn't going to tell them a thing. _She _was. Santana remembered how her stomach had lurched, calling her dad at his office and telling him as much of the truth as she dared with Burt right there.

"_After the play, I didn't go to the cast party. I went to the bar with some guy and got drunk."_

There was a long pause. "_Where are you?"_ her dad had asked.

"_Kurt's." _

He sighed. "_I don't have time for this right now, Santana. I'll deal with it when I get home. For now, hand over your fake ID to Kurt's dad… I really wish you wouldn't do things like this."_

That had been it. He hadn't asked if she was okay. Only Kurt's dad had done that, and only when she told him she was had he started yelling at her like he had the right to. But that was the thing. Burt was a damn good dad. He reminded her of her mom. Tough but fair, and of the opinion that every kid needed limits and parenting. Santana remembered many nights in eighth grade, when her mom would talk to her and Quinn about how important a reputation was. They had both nodded, thinking they, at thirteen, had all the answers. But as it turned out, reputation wasn't about being careless with your body, and it wasn't about making other kids afraid of you. It was about respect. It was about not being afraid of their own power. When Santana thought back to last Friday night, she felt nothing but shame. She had turned over her fake ID to Burt, but her dad had yet to say anything about it. By now, it had been four days.

Now, Santana was sitting in rehearsal for Sue's Kids with a dull headache, despite time and Tylenol. She braced herself for whatever Sue might dish out today, knowing it was impossible. There was never any way to prepare for Coach Sue.

She furrowed her eyebrows as Coach picked out a teal marker from the rainbow collection at the base of the whiteboard and wrote the word **ACTABILITY**.

"Isn't that a little redundant?" Hummel asked and Santana glared at him. She still hadn't forgiven him for Friday night. She knew, somehow, that he had to be responsible for her showing up at his house after her night out. "We just acted in the play."

"Kurt, your sass is like mother's milk to my ever-shrinking heart. Our theme is actability this week because Jacob Ben Israel pointed out in his ridiculous blog that while many performances were admirable," Coach Sue paused dramatically here, and gestured to herself, "there were several that were not up to Sue's Kids standards. That's why, for the second time in the history of Sue's Kids, you will all be performing the same song. No group performance this time. If you don't think I remember the total disaster that was Ants Marching, you are sadly mistaken. This mind is like a steel trap. Sectionals is three weeks from now, and if you think I'm going to let my Sue's Kids get away with a performance where they stand on stage looking bored, you've got another thing coming.

"Another thing to keep in mind: three weeks until Sectionals means three more opportunities to impress me and get your name up on my list of champions like your fellow competitors. Kurt, Mike, Quinn, Santana and Rachel, you're already out of the sub-basement, but the time for coddling is over. This week, the homework is going to be tougher than ever and I want all of you to come ready to wow me."

"You've literally never coddled us," Artie pointed out.

"That's right, and I'm not about to start now. From now on, the people surrounding you aren't your friends. They're your enemies. Every man for himself."

"But we have to work together at Sectionals," Joe said, tentatively raising his hand. "Isn't competing kind of counterproductive?"

"Rachel. You've been particularly ruthless lately. Care to explain to Joe why it's necessary to foster competition in a group such as this?" Sue asked.

Santana rolled her eyes as Berry stood. "Because working as a team won't mean anything if we don't all have the fire in us to succeed individually first."

"_You _would know…" Hummel muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Berry asked like she couldn't believe she was being called out for anything.

"Oh, please, Rachel. You know your resume for NYADA is amazing. You don't need class president like I do, and yet you insist on running against me! And taking my issues!"

"School lunches aren't personal property, they're a whole school's responsibility," Berry pointed out in her irritating way.

"School lunches are delicious," Brittany put in.

"Okay. If anyone would like to witness a brawl, join Kurt, Rachel and Brittany in the gym for class presidential debates, coming soon. Until then, all your focus should be on me, and the fact that you're all hideous actors."

Santana managed to get through practice. It was relatively painless, except for when she had to look at Finn Hudson from close range when he got in her face after practice and asked if she owed him anything. If she had anything to apologize for.

"Get out of my face, Hudson. I don't owe you anything," she sighed, feeling defeated. She had no idea what his problem was, but he had been kind of glaring at her the way she was glaring at Hummel all during practice. Of course Coach Sue thought all the terrible attitudes were a direct result of her teaching and was all proud of herself, but Santana could have cared less.

After that, Santana went home, where she collapsed into bed and slept. She woke up early in the morning on Thursday. Her dad didn't wake her and Santana was grateful for sleep that was - for once - nightmare free. Unfortunately, she hadn't even looked at what song they were supposed to perform today for Sue's Kids. Lucky for her, Santana could pretty much ask anyone in glee and they would know.

She grabbed her phone, prepared to text Brittany, even though it was four hours before Brittany usually woke up on school days, when something caught Santana's attention. A text from Brittany. Just Santana's luck that Brittany would be texting her for the song when Santana had no idea…but that wasn't what Brittany wanted.

_Finn told everyone you're Lebanese, even your dad…he said it's because you were at a gay bar and everyone should know…and because you yelled at him a lot when you were drunk. I didn't know bars were gay. Anyway, I thought you should know from me. I hope you haven't checked online yet. If you have, sorry I was too slow. If you haven't, don't. Love you no matter what, even though you are Lebanese. _

12:46AM Thurs, Nov 17

From: Brittany

Santana couldn't breathe. This had to be a mistake. It couldn't be right, could it? In all the awfulness of Friday night, Santana had no memory at all of yelling at Finn. She hadn't even remembered seeing him after the play. Holding her breath, Santana pulled up Facebook and waited for it to load. The posts were automatically listed, not according to most recent, but most popular. At the very top of the page, there was Finn's name:

_Finn Hudson:_

_**Santana Lopez **__can dish it out but can she take it? I wonder if __**Julio Lopez**__ knows his daughter is gay? If he didn't before, he does now. _

Below the status was Sebastian Smythe's idiotic status update from Friday night superimposed on a picture some asshole had taken of the two of them together. Scandals was clearly visible on the wall behind them.

Santana didn't let herself think. She called Finn. She didn't give a rat's ass if he was asleep. He clearly didn't care about her.

"Santana?" he asked groggily.

"Why the hell are you Facebook friends with my dad? And where the hell do you get off outing me to him and the entire school?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice down.

"Are you serious? I've been friends with your dad since I slept with you, and I posted that status, like, forever ago. I was pissed because of all the shit you gave me when you slept over Friday night. I'm really sensitive about my weight and you didn't even seem to care about that or anything…but I'm over it now. We're even, right?"

Santana swallowed, never willing to give Finn the satisfaction of knowing that he had gotten to her. "You think that outing me to a quarter of the student body is the same thing as a few cracks I made at your house when I was drunk?" she insisted. "I don't even remember saying anything to you! How the hell could you do this to me? I haven't even told my parents yet!"

"Well, that's sort of the idea, isn't it? We're all fine with you being gay, or lesbian or whatever. You're the one whose got the problem with it. You'll see that nobody cares. Everybody already knows in glee and we don't care. I did you a favor."

"But you didn't just out me to the glee club, _idiot_! You told all 500 of your Facebook friends. You told _my dad_! That's not a favor! Seriously, you have to delete it!"

"No. I'm just doing what Ms. Sylvester told us to. Every man for himself. You're my enemy. If I delete it it's like deferring or whatever she told Mike Chang. Like I'm saying I'm not worthy to be in Sue's Kids," he responded easily, yawning. "Listen, I'm exhausted. I've got to get some sleep. Just know everything's cool between us. I don't blame you anymore, for anything."

Santana didn't wait for him to say more. She hung up on him abruptly, choking back a sob. She shut down her own Facebook because she didn't see another option, and then pulled up her Hope & Healing account.

_Dear CB,_

_Shit. My life just got so much worse. I hate being so negative but this is seriously bad. I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do. It has nothing to do with my mom. Everything to do with me. Shit, shit, shit. What am I gonna do? How the hell can I face anyone? This is like, the worst thing ever, next to losing my mom. Look on the bright side, your parents at least allow you in the house. Once this gets out, my dad will disown me. Please help. HSM._

* * *

Blaine woke early on Thursday and went over his song for glee club again in his head before he deleted 58 status alerts from his phone. The number was unusual. He was used to waking up to anywhere from six to ten. Scanning them, Blaine saw most had to do with a classless post by Finn Hudson. Blaine had deleted them all in one fell swoop and focused on his song.

He had this one down. Acting was one of his strengths, and he had his sights set on that list. He ran the song a few more times, trying to shake the weird feeling he got whenever he thought back to the previous Friday and spending so much time one on one with Kurt. They hadn't fought once. Of course, Santana had been there, too, but she couldn't possibly remember that night.

Blocking that night out of his mind, Blaine performed to the mirror on the back of his bedroom door, trying to encapsulate different emotions. Even though it felt out of place, Blaine contemplated doing a couple emotion tornadoes. Just the thought of it was enough to send Blaine to the bathroom. He fell to his knees, his stomach twisting painfully. His eyes teared and he cursed. Every time. Was every single good thing going to be marred by memories of Coop? Could he ever move on and be happy? Probably not six months after the fact. It was probably too fast.

Forcing himself up, Blaine went back to his room and pulled up his Hope & Healing account. He'd denied his grief for long enough. It was time to start facing it. But instead of the post he intended to write, he found himself staring at one written by HSM a couple hours earlier. Instantly, his issues felt manageable. If he could help a friend - give her what he most needed - maybe it would help him, too, in a way.

He opened up a new message and began a reply:

_HSM,_

_I am so sorry things are so hard right now. Whatever is going on, know that I'm on your side. And your dad is your dad. No matter what, he will love you. He might be angry at first but in time he will get past whatever it is. At least, for your sake, I hope so. You don't deserve anymore hardships. Memories of my brother are everywhere this morning. It's so difficult, because it started out as such a good day, and now I just want to crawl back in bed. I wish we were both feeling better. I wish I could give you a hug and tell you everything would be okay and I wish that, by doing that, it would actually happen. Like, things would actually change for the better. For now, I'll send you courage to face whatever it is you need to face. Know that I am standing with you, no matter what. Your mom is out there, too, and depending on what you believe, you could look to her for help and strength, too. I know it isn't the same as her really being there but it's something. I'm going to send this, so you can see it before you face the day. Keep your head up today and know that I'm with you every step of it, and so is your mom. CB_

Blaine hit send and just stared at the screen for a few minutes, hoping to see a response. Amazingly, one came.

_CB- Why can't you be real? My life is falling apart and I really need a friend, and I have you, but all I want is someone like you said. Someone to actually hold me and believe with me that the world is a good place not a place full of selfish assholes. I hate this day. I want it over. I want to change the past. I want stupid shit to be undone and I want my mom to come back from wherever the hell she is and get me. I can't do this. I can't go to school. But the only thing worse than school is staying home without my mom. So, I guess I'll talk to you later. And thank you. HSM._

Blaine sent a virtual hug for a good measure and then finished getting ready for school. The day passed uneventfully, except that everybody seemed to be talking about some stupid piece of gossip. Blaine didn't pay it any mind until a pass came for him in the middle of Spanish. He glanced down and saw Miss Pillsbury's careful handwriting.

Then, Blaine's heart started racing. Many times, he had thought about how different things might have been if they had lost Coop on a weekday. How a pass would come and he would be pulled out of class like this. Who else did he have to lose? His parents? Blaine tried to breathe and forced himself not to panic but by the time he was in the office, he almost couldn't contain his fear.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Hi, Blaine. I just wanted to check in with you. Make sure everything has been okay this week."

He blinked. "Yes, everything's been fine. Why? Is there some reason it shouldn't be? Are my parents…?" he hedged, not even able to finish the sentence.

"Oh, of course! Of course, they're fine! The thing is, I know things have been tough for you this year, and I've recently been made aware - by anonymous complaint - of some cyber bullying. I wanted to make sure you weren't being singled out."

"Why would I be singled out?" Blaine asked, shaking his head slightly.

"Um…because of your sexual orientation…" Miss Pillsbury said uncomfortably, straightening her desk. "The cyber-bullying is apparently against a student who may identify as gay. If you are being targeted, I want to let you know that there are things we can do to prevent it. You do not have to let it continue. I'm one hundred percent on your side. I understand McKinley doesn't embrace the same zero tolerance policy as Dalton but I'm hoping that will change very soon. I just…I don't want you to feel alone, Blaine."

What was ironic was that Blaine _did _feel alone, intensely so, but it had nothing to do with online bullying. "I'm not being bullied," he told her confidently, keeping his eye contact direct. "Thank you, though, for thinking of me. It's more than other faculty has done."

"If you need anything… Even if you just need a place to hang out for a while and not talk? You can always come here. Or if you need guidance about something, I can help with that, too. I'm a guidance counselor, after all. I give guidance."

"I appreciate it," Blaine nodded, standing to leave and giving her a little wave.

The rest of the day passed quickly, and Blaine spent the ensuing hours between 2:30 and 7:00 p.m. at the Lima Bean doing schoolwork, and watching the video of the song he was supposed to perform on his phone.

When the time came for glee rehearsal, Blaine was running late - which, for him, meant he would arrive just on time - not early, as he preferred.

The rest of Sue's Kids arrived simultaneously and Blaine was immediately aware of tension in the room. He was clueless about a number of things, but he had always been sensitive to group dynamics, especially thanks to the Warblers. He glanced around him, noting that the room was suspiciously silent. No one was talking.

"Tonight, things will be different," Ms. Sylvester announced. "You will perform for me, in the office around the corner. The idea is to coach you in the specific areas you need to improve on, with regard to acting, which as everyone knows, is an area that Sue Sylvester excels in. Mercedes, you're up first. Let's go," Ms. Sylvester said, snapping her fingers.

When they were gone, he leaned down to Sam, speaking in a whisper. "Okay, what is going on?"

"You seriously don't know?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Blaine doesn't pay attention to hurtful gossip," Rachel interjected, "and for the record, neither do I."

"Finn told everybody on his Facebook that Santana was gay and even tagged her dad in the post so he'd find out about it…" Sam whispered.

Blaine's eyes widened. Finn was the only glee club member he wasn't Facebook friends with and suddenly he was glad. He was glad, too, for whoever Miss Pillsbury's anonymous complainant had been. This kind of thing could not be tolerated.

For the first time, Blaine let his eyes travel to Santana. She was sitting stiffly, her eyes fixed straight ahead. He couldn't imagine experiencing something like that.

"Why would you do that?" Blaine asked, loud enough that Finn couldn't ignore it. He and Santana weren't close. They weren't even really friends, but that wasn't the point. The point was, what he did was totally unacceptable and everyone seemed to be looking the other way, except to gossip about it.

"Would everybody please just give it a rest? I did that days ago, and it's over now. Like I told Santana. We're even. So, let's not make a huge deal out of nothing, okay?"

Blaine was listening to Finn, but he was watching Santana. The way her jaw clenched. How she swallowed and the way her eyes shone.

By now, Mercedes and Artie had been called to perform. Mercedes reentered the room looking pleased with herself, and Artie had been muttering, "Use my face more… It's so simple…. Why didn't I think of that before?"

"Santana," Ms. Sylvester called.

All eyes turned to her, but she didn't move. She just glared in Ms. Sylvester's direction and said, "I didn't do it."

"Blaine."

At the sound of his own name, Blaine got to his feet and walked around the corner to the office. The door stood open so Ms. Sylvester could hear everything going on in the glee room. He saw an I-Home cued with a particular track, and Blaine confidently began his performance after Ms. Sylvester pressed play. He put himself into the lyrics and loved acting them out. There wasn't anything he liked more than singing and telling a story. Acting helped him do that.

He finished, and looked at Ms. Sylvester expectantly.

"You're so literal, it makes my eyes water. Just because the word 'shiver' exists in the lyrics, it doesn't mean you should shiver. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What do you think about when you're performing?" she pressed.

"The words," he said, without hesitation.

"The words mean nothing by themselves. Individually, they don't convey anything. It's the way they're arranged that gives them meaning. Instead of thinking about the words, try thinking about the story. The words themselves are just pieces. The story is the puzzle. Try it again with that in mind," she instructed and sat back to listen.

This time, Blaine really put himself in the headspace for the song. He remembered the video and what little information he'd been able to find about the song itself. Suddenly, Ms. Sylvester's request made perfect sense. It wasn't supposed to be a happy song necessarily, so why was he performing it like one? The more Blaine thought about it, the more it struck him as a warning. This time, he really went there emotionally, internalizing what he remembered of the quote at the beginning of the music video.

He was just beginning the second verse when he heard the glee classroom explode with noise. Rachel was shouting above everyone else's shocked murmurs and cursing. Without a word, Ms. Sylvester got up and walked around the corner. Blaine followed curiously.

"Ms. Sylvester, Santana just hit me!" Finn exclaimed, his hand to his cheek.

**Song Performed on Actability Week:**

**Kids by MGMT**


	7. Fearlessness

Santana had done everything she could to block out the stupid conversations around her, but when Finn and Berry had put their heads together and he had smiled in her direction, Santana couldn't take it anymore. She would rather he opened his big mouth and said whatever the hell it was to her face, but instead, Finn went behind her back like a coward.

Ironically, that was just what Finn was telling Berry. Santana knew because she could hear the last couple sentences on her way down to where they were sitting. She had only planned on giving him a piece of her mind, but then she overhead what exactly was being said about her.

"_Finn, I know you probably think you were only trying to help, but forcing someone to do something they aren't ready for isn't helpful. Plus, I saw that post. It was done in a really mean-spirited manner," _Berry had quipped, surprising Santana. "_If anyone did something like that to my dads in high school, I'd scratch their eyes out._"

"_Would you relax? You take everything so seriously. Your dads are cool. I would never do anything like that to them. But Santana's just a coward who can't accept what's obviously true about her. So, I helped her out. She'll thank me for it one day."_ Finn had put his arm around Berry and grinned smugly. And Santana had snapped. She hadn't even thought about it. Just reacted. Before she knew it, the room had exploded with noise, and Coach Sylvester was there, and Finn was holding his cheek, saying that she had hit him. The proof was obvious, rising on his face.

"Santana. My office," Coach demanded.

She sighed, masking her humiliation with annoyance. How the hell was she going to explain this in a way that didn't get her ass suspended? Did it even matter? Should she even try to defend herself?

"Violence is not permitted in Sue's Kids. Now would you kindly fill me in on what you were thinking? I could kick you out for this."

"Do it! Like I care!" Santana spat. "Finn's just an insecure, stupid guy who eats too much trail mix when he plays his X-Box and can't handle the truth about his ballooning weight. So, you're on his side. Big surprise!"

"Are you finished?" Coach asked, like Santana was being out of control. "Care to tell me what really happened?"

Santana crossed her arms. "Doesn't matter. I hit him. So suspend me," she challenged.

Coach took off her glasses and stared at Santana for a full thirty seconds before saying anything else. "I imagine nothing would give you more pleasure than the false sense of security you'd get by telling me how to punish you, but that won't do. While this incident did occur on school grounds, it did not happen on school time. This isn't a class, it's a club, and I reserve the right to handle your consequences as I see fit. As the director of Sue's Kids, I am the only one who is afforded the privilege of positively bursting with the satisfaction that handing down orders affords me. Now, while I understand the wonderful feeling physical violence can give, I can't stand by and allow my Sue's Kids embrace it. So, for the second time. What happened?"

"Maybe he's _drugged_! I don't know!" Santana sputtered.

"I didn't ask what lie you can come up with the quickest, I asked what happened. The truth."

"It doesn't matter," Santana denied, crossing her arms.

There was no way in hell she could admit to Coach Sylvester what really happened. So, let her get suspended. It wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

"I guess I'm just going to have to rely on the Sue's Kids with the least allegiance for the real story," Coach Sue said, sounding disappointed.

* * *

Rachel waited anxiously while Ms. Sylvester talked to Santana and then to Finn. She knew without knowing that sooner or later, they would all take their turn in her office. It was a classic interrogation strategy. The problem was, Rachel had no idea what she would say. Where should her allegiance lie? With Finn, the love of her life? He had done a terrible thing. Or, should she come to Santana's defense, when all she had ever done was make Rachel's life miserable?

She thought about her dads and what they would want. How they would want her to handle this. Rachel knew, beyond a doubt, that they would urge her to tell the truth. Don't think about sides. But her dads weren't in high school. Her dads didn't have to deal with what it would mean if they spoke against the love of their lives? If she and Finn were going to be married - which was looking like more and more of a possibility - didn't that mean that Rachel had to align herself with what Finn wanted? No, Rachel didn't agree with what he did, but she had to believe his heart was in the right place.

Still, even as she had the thought, Rachel's stomach sank. She knew Finn hadn't done what he had done out of altruism. He had done it out of revenge. He was angry at Santana, and no matter what she said to him, Rachel couldn't look past the fact that he had crossed a line when he had made Santana's most private business public.

Her stomach was in knots. It was all Rachel could do to hope that Ms. Sylvester wouldn't call on her for information about what had happened. She didn't want to think about whose side she would take.

* * *

"Finn. What happened?" Coach Sue asked him plainly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, shocked. "I was just talking to Rachel, and Santana came up and slapped me in the face."

"Okay. Nothing precipitated that?" she asked.

"I don't know what that means…" Finn admitted.

"Your story is that Santana just approached you out of the blue and slapped you in the face, unprovoked. Is that right?"

"Yes! That's right! And besides, even if I _did _do something - which I didn't - it really shouldn't matter. Violence is way worse than anything else," he said, confidently.

Coach Sue pressed her lips together in a firm line. "I need Sugar Motta, Rory Flannigan and Joseph Hart in this room, stat. And you'd better hope that they have as ridiculous an ability to recall significant events as you do."

Finn didn't wait. He got out of there as fast as possible and told the three newest Sue's Kids that Coach wanted to see them. "And tell her I didn't do anything," he insisted.

* * *

Sugar sat down only after she looked over the chair Finn had been in very carefully. The last thing her new outfit needed was sweat by Finn Hudson. She knew for a fact that in addition to being a terrible dancer, he didn't wear enough deodorant. It made occupying spaces after him really disgusting. It was also why Sugar chose to stand during Sue Sylvester's questions.

"Care to tell me what you know about what happened just now between Finn and Santana?" Sue asked.

"Not really," Sugar said honestly. She didn't really know either Finn or Santana. It wouldn't make any difference to Sugar what happened to either one of them. Though if she had to pick sides, she guessed she'd side with Finn since he was a football player, and football players ruled the school. "On second thought, Finn didn't do anything," she said. "Are we, like, done? Or do I have to sing that creepy song about kids?"

"For the love of my sanity, please get out of this office. Send in the next victim."

* * *

Joe walked into Ms. Sylvester's office feeling nervous. He wasn't used to this kind of thing at all. In fact, he was still a little shaky from it. When your mom was your teacher, you didn't have to worry about rumors. Joe hadn't really known about how cruel kids could be. He'd heard about Facebook, of course, but he didn't have one. His mom would have let him if he wanted one, but he didn't. Now, Joe was glad he had stuck to his guns. Sam had shown him what Finn had written and Joe had stared, uncomprehending.

He believed that God loved everybody. Joe also knew that it wasn't his place to judge anyone for anything. Everybody fell short of the glory of God. It was in their nature as human beings. Just like Joe knew those things in his heart, he also knew that he hated the feeling he got in his gut when he saw what Finn Hudson posted online about Santana Lopez. It seemed shallow, reactive and hurtful - but more than all these things - it struck Joe as bullying. And Joe couldn't stand by on good conscience and let what Finn did go without saying something.

"I'm not saying what Santana did was right. I don't believe in fighting back unless it's to protect yourself or your loved ones…but I'm just saying…before your punish her, consider what she was dealing with…"

"Which was what, exactly?" Ms. Sylvester asked, her tone calm and even.

"I'm not online much. My parents have filters on pretty much everything that's out there and I only go on the computer for educational stuff. What I'm saying is, I don't have a Facebook account, but Sam showed me something and I think you should see it, too. It's what Santana was reacting to. She not only saw it, but I heard she asked him to delete it and he wouldn't. He kept defending it to Rachel, and the whole glee club. She couldn't take it anymore. Finn told everybody on Facebook - and I guess that's a lot of people - that Santana's gay. He even did something to the post so her dad knows, too," Joe winced, sympathetic.

"Your mom doesn't allow you to have a cell phone?" Ms. Sylvester asked rhetorically.

"Only for emergencies," Joe answered honestly.

"Well, then, I need you to get me Rory and then Sam Evans."

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded.

"Joe?" Ms. Sylvester called, before he was out the door. "I appreciate your honesty."

* * *

"Finn Hudson's my friend," Rory admitted. "I heard Santana making fun of him a few times before, so it would make sense that wanted to get back at her."

"Did he make a post on Facebook regarding Santana's sexuality?" Sue asked evenly.

Wordless, Rory nodded.

* * *

Finally, Sam came in and found the post in question on his phone, handing it over for Ms. Sylvester to see.

"Thank you," she said and excused him, but not before she asked him to get Santana and Finn. Not before she made the executive decision to hold onto the phone to see what genuine reactions Finn's completely inappropriate online conduct elicited.

* * *

Santana kept her eyes down as she reentered Coach Sue's office. This was it. She was getting suspended. Or expelled. Either way, it would suck. And Santana felt sure that Finn would get away clean.

So, she was totally shocked when Coach Sue showed Finn Sam's phone, with Finn's awful Facebook post and just waited. She watched him blush and avert his eyes, not wanting to own anything he did. For Santana, everything stopped. She studied the floor beneath her feet. She couldn't stop taking mental inventory of every single thing on Coach Sylvester's desk. Anything to take her attention away from Finn's stupid post.

"You specifically told me that Santana slapped you without provocation," Coach Sue told Finn plainly. "This looks provocative to me. That would make you a liar. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Okay, so I did that. So what? She's the one who flaunted it all around! She insulted me first! _And _she hit me! Doesn't she get any consequences at all?" Finn complained.

"You both get consequences. First and foremost, I sentence both of you to a healthy dose of peer mediation. I also am demanding your presence for two hours after school tomorrow, during which time, you will both write a five to seven page essay about a better way you could have handled this situation. Take it seriously, or you'll report to me after school every day until it's done right. Santana, I'm also removing your name from my list of champions."

"Essays are totally lame!" Finn protested.

"You waste my time with immature and completely inappropriate behavior and I'll waste yours." Coach Sue assured. "If you dare to treat another student with as much disrespect as you treated Santana, you'll wish you only had to write an essay."

"What about what _she _did to _me_?!" Finn insisted indignantly.

"If I were her, you would have gotten more than a slap in the face," Coach Sue promised.

For the first time since Santana sat down in the office, she felt like she could breathe. It was humiliating as hell to have her personal life talked about like this, but at least Finn was getting something in return for acting like an ass. She pulled herself together enough to go back into the classroom in time to hear Sue's announcement.

"This week, Mercedes is the winner," Coach Sylvester announced, unceremoniously erasing Santana's name from the list of Sectional's soloists and offering the marker to Mercedes to add her own name.

Santana expected not to care. Not like it was some huge loss. But it was a loss, and frankly, Santana had lost enough. She couldn't handle one more thing. It was going to be awful enough enduring peer mediation and the essay-writing punishment with Finn, plus knowing that his ridiculous post was still out there for people to look at and judge.

So when Sue's Kids rehearsal was over, finally, Santana got the hell out of there, grateful that there was no comment card to document this awful night.

When she got home, she found herself alone in the house, as usual. Santana went to her room and booted up her laptop, checking her email and praying she wouldn't have to shut down that account, too. What she found wasn't what she expected. There was a message from her dad. From his work email. It was exactly two words long and it read: _Everything ok?_

Santana's stomach turned to ice. She knew right away that her dad had seen Finn's post. She knew the only reason her dad even had a Facebook was to keep an eye on her and make her think twice about what she posted. It had usually worked on her end. Nothing like your dad friend requesting you online to keep you honest. But she had never expected this. What the hell was she supposed to say.

So, instead of writing back to her dad, Santana wrote to CB instead:

_My dad wants to know if everything is okay. I don't know what to say. _

* * *

Blaine was more than a little apprehensive at the thought of his family's first major holiday without his brother. Every holiday Blaine could remember, Coop had been there. Coop always knew what to say. Always made their parents laugh. Now? Suffice it to say, there wasn't much laughing going on. There wasn't much of anything going on. No play rehearsals. No Sue's Kids this week, either.

He was kind of glad to get out of glee rehearsal for a bit. Lately, it had been really intense there, with all the drama between Santana and Finn, and then Ms. Sylvester taking out the three newest kids to interrogate them about what they'd seen. It made Blaine glad he had been occupied with performing when everything happened. That way, he didn't have to worry about being singled out.

Still, no extra-curricular activities made for one boring holiday break. His parents had, thankfully, graduated from watching The Life of Cooper Anderson on home video twenty-four hours a day, and were now moderately functional, his mom even asked how he was doing once in a while. He tried not to be bitter about the amount of time it had taken her to check in with him, and be grateful that she did it at all. Blaine's Facebook had been full of the Warblers and other family marking off the days by stating what they were thankful for:

_Nick Warbler_

_Is thankful for mashed potatoes. I can't wait for them._

_Wes Warbler _

_Is thankful for a break from studying._

_David Warbler_

_Is thankful to be employed._

_Thad Warbler _

_Is so thankful for my girlfriend. Don't know what I would do without her._

Blaine had tried it himself once:

_Blaine Anderson_

_Is thankful for quiet._

It was silly. It didn't even make sense, but at least it was honest. He thought of HSM. She would be proud of him, maybe. That was something. He thought about her a lot. Was she dreading Thanksgiving as much as he was? How was her dad holding up? It had been a while since he'd checked for Hope & Healing mail, so he pulled up his account and clicked around. He found a new message, dated almost a week earlier.

_Hey HSM,_

_Sorry for being MIA again. Lucky for you, I'm home and totally bored, so I'll be writing you a lot. Really, this time. I think it's good your dad is checking in with you. My parents just started asking how I am doing as well. It's a little off-putting, but I try to take whatever they are able to give, even though it doesn't feel fair. They have had each other to lean on these past six months. I've had you, which has been great, but it hasn't always felt right to rely on someone my own age for emotional support when I should have been able to go to my parents. Weren't you previously afraid of your dad having a bad reaction when he found out about whatever trouble you were having? I think this is a good sign. It means he cares. He doesn't want to disown you. Give him a chance to be there for you. He might surprise you. Imagine he's me, and tell him honestly. Maybe tell me how you're feeling to organize your thoughts and then you can tell him? I know…I can imagine you rolling your eyes right now and calling me a hypocrite, and you'd be right. How are you feeling about Thanksgiving tomorrow? I am dreading it, honestly. My brother's been present for everything. I don't know how we'll cope with the presence of that empty chair. How will you cope? CB_

Sent on 11/23/11, 12:49 p.m.

* * *

_CB - Awful advice, as usual, but it wouldn't be you if your advice didn't make my blood boil. You have no idea what I'm dealing with. You can't just blindly give advice to me and think it will take because it came from a good place. Sorry. Things suck more than usual, but I'm sure that's no surprise to you. I've spent my break doing extra shit that I don't have time for. For your information, I did get back to my dad. I told him, "no" everything wasn't okay. He hasn't said anymore. Oh, except to ask five minutes ago, "So, are we going to have a turkey tomorrow?" Like, what the hell is that supposed to mean? My mom always used to take care of Thanksgiving. Even last year. I never stopped to consider how much work it took. Sure, I helped with some side dishes and I offered to pick up store bought stuff for her, but I don't have any idea how to make a turkey. I can't even think past the cooking to her absence. It would be too much. HSM._

Sent on 11/23/11, 1:14 p.m.

* * *

Blaine didn't wait. The minute he got HSM's message, he tracked down his mom in the kitchen. His father wasn't anywhere around, so he figured he could ask a question and not get drawn into a confrontation or fight that would result in tears from his mom.

"Hey, Mom? Can I talk to you?" he asked softly.

"Sure. Do you need something?" she responded, with a sad smile.

"Yeah, actually. How do you make a turkey? A friend of mine is stuck preparing one on her own for the first time and she's pretty overwhelmed. It's just her and her dad. If there's nothing too secret about your recipe, I was wondering if it would be okay if I shared it with her?"

"Oh," his mom winced in sympathy. "Of course. Just tell her to buy a baking bag and stick the turkey in there. It's very simple and doesn't take as much work as the old fashioned way."

Blaine set down his computer and did a quick search, knowing his mom wasn't very big on technology. She was constantly asking him not to text her because she couldn't figure out how to text back, and she preferred to hear his voice when she talked to him. He searched 'how to make a turkey in a bag' and turned the laptop to face her.

"Like this?"

"Yes, just like that."

"Okay. Thanks, Mom," he told her, standing up and retreating to his room. Blaine hadn't missed the look in his mom's eyes when he unwittingly did something or said something like Coop that would make her remember him. Blaine wondered how he might endure if he were forced to constantly look at someone who reminded him of his brother? It couldn't be easy. Instead of dwelling on it, though, he sat down and wrote a response:

_HSM, I don't know how your mom usually prepared a turkey, but I asked my mom how she does it. I am including a link to a website that she says has an accurate description of how it is done. She makes it in some kind of baking bag. My mom claims it is simple. For your sake, I hope so. I don't know how to remove turkey giblets, though, so maybe YouTube that, so you don't leave anything gross in there. If you need anymore help, let me know. CB_

Sent on 11/23/11, 2:56 p.m.

* * *

_CB - Thank your mom for the recipe. I'm officially exhausted and disgusted. Turkey giblet removal is the sickest thing ever. Seriously. I have a whole new respect for my mom. I had to go out and buy the tiniest damn turkey and scour the shelves of grocery stores for baking bags. Grocery shopping remains touchy for me. Still didn't get out of there without bawling. It was pretty embarrassing, but oh well. My dad wants a damn turkey. He's getting one. And he better eat some this time and not get all riled up about how it's not the same as how Mom did it. If I push him, he might make the rice or something to go with it, since that's the one thing he knows how to make. Happy Thanksgiving. I miss my mom so much. Maybe you could hug yours for me? HSM._

Sent on 11/24/11, 9:33 a.m.

* * *

Blaine woke on Thanksgiving morning at around 10 a.m. The house already smelled delicious, and for a while, Blaine just laid there, not moving. That way, he could pretend things were normal. Coop was still asleep down the hall, maybe. But it didn't take long to hear his father snap at his mom and the illusion shattered. A door slammed somewhere in the house, and Blaine sat up, turning on the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade to block out whatever was happening. He thought about HSM and how her day was turning out. At least he had his mom. At least their whole meal wasn't contingent on Coop's presence. He read her most recent message and felt his throat swell with emotion. Instead of starting his day slow - taking a long shower and making sure he was presentable before showing his face - Blaine walked to the kitchen still in pajamas, and embraced his mom from behind.

"My friend says thank you for the recipe," he said. "Sounds like it worked out for her. I love you."

She said nothing, only hummed a little, inclining her head in his direction. Then, the moment was shattered when his father came back inside, snapping at him.

"Blaine, for God's sake. Have a little courtesy and take a shower before you show your face. It's only polite."

Biting his lip hard, Blaine willed himself not to comment on the hypocrisy of his father walking around in the same sweatpants and tee shirt he had slept in. Instead, he just got out of there.

"Why do you treat him that way? He's our son. Cooper sat at the table in pajamas and you never yelled at him," Blaine overheard his mom comment, and was touched. Until he heard his father's response:

"Yeah, and where is Cooper now, honey?" he asked coldly. "Maybe, if I'd taken a harder line with him, he'd still be here."

Blaine blinked back tears retreated to his room again.

* * *

Santana sat in silence, eating the turkey she managed not to completely destroy. It was a small victory. But, it turned out, making the turkey was the easy part. Ignoring her mom's chair at the table was harder. Especially when there was no conversation at all happening at the table. She sat and listened to her dad chewing. When he said something, she was nearly grateful.

"Is the gravy homemade?"

"Homemade from the store," she answered testily.

"Wasn't the turkey moist enough for you to get enough drippings for the homemade stuff, or did you just not feel like making it?"

"If you know so much about it you could have helped…" Santana protested softly. "It's not like I knew what I was doing with the turkey, either."

"Oh," her dad said, his face registering surprise. "I just thought Mom taught you last year."

"Why would she have done that? She still thought she was gonna be here this year?" Santana commented bitterly.

There was total silence, so Santana excused herself. "I'm going out," she said shortly.

"It's Thanksgiving. It's a time to be with family," Julio protested.

"Don't worry. That's where I'm going," Santana reassured him. With any luck, he'd think she was at the cemetery visiting her mom's grave, but she had no plans to go there.

* * *

"Who wants to say grace?" Blaine's mom asked, looking to her husband and then to Blaine.

Neither one spoke, so she tried again.

"We should at least give thanks," she pressed.

"For what?" Blaine's dad asked, sounding completely absent from the moment. Then, he began passing platters around the table. Blaine studiously avoided eye contact with the chair across from him that was Coop's. He didn't notice that the food had stopped circulating until a sniff stopped him short of filling his plate with homemade stuffing.

Blaine glanced up in time to see his dad cradling the bowl of mashed potatoes between his hands, tears falling down his face. Blaine instantly remembered Coop's fondness for them, and how their dad would stop him short of filling his entire plate with a huge pile and adding the bare minimum of everything else. "I should have let him have as much as he wanted!" his dad sobbed, making Blaine's heartbeat speed up.

He had never seen his dad cry like this. Not when they found Coop. Not at the funeral, and not since. To Blaine's knowledge, his dad never shed a tear over anything. The sight of his dad so shaken shook Blaine, as well. He pressed his lips together and stared at his own plate. He couldn't say what he was thinking. The last holiday they had celebrated with Coop had been Easter. Coop had taken Blaine out to pick up some extra bread - bread they didn't even need - and he ended up being pulled over by the cops. He got out of a ticket by putting on a Scottish brogue and convincing the officer that he had just moved back Stateside from out of the country. He laughed on their way home, talking about what a sucker the cop was, oblivious to the fact that Blaine was shaking. Oblivious of the fact that Blaine had been suddenly, deeply aware that Coop probably had illegal stuff in his car. That if Coop got caught with it, there was a chance he could have blamed Blaine and never thought twice about it. Blaine, at sixteen, could have been arrested and Coop wouldn't have even cared. His parents still didn't know about that. As usual, the only memories that mattered to them were the good ones.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Blaine didn't have any good ones. By the time Blaine was old enough to really start having memories of his brother, he was already getting in trouble. There were only hazy recollections, pictures and videos to rely on as proof that Coop really had been someone else once. Someone who held his baby brother on his lap, and taught him things. Protected him. When Blaine looked at pictures he could conjure his brother the way his parents remembered him, but barely. The person Coop had turned into was much more firmly entrenched in Blaine's mind. His parents had far more memories of this version of Coop than Blaine himself did. They had more to lose than Blaine did, because Blaine felt hardened by years of seeing his brother screw up, while his parents remembered the sweet little boy they raised.

Maybe, it didn't matter who Coop had been at the end. Maybe all that mattered was the person they remembered him to be. Blaine sat with his head bowed, trying to ignore not only the chair across from him, but his father, who never showed weakness, as he kept crying over the mashed potatoes.

* * *

Santana breathed and tried to focus on where she was going. Lucky for her, there was no horrendous traffic. She would get there to Lima Heights Adjacent in no time.

Neither of her parents were aware that she kept in touch with her biological grandmother. If they had known, Santana was pretty sure her mom would have definitely sat her down and they would have had to have a serious discussion about it. Maybe she'd have wound up in counseling again, like she had as a little girl. The thing was, as horrible as Santana's abuela had treated her, she couldn't deny family. She had so little left that was truly hers.

Forty-five minutes later, Santana parked in front of the little house she remembered from childhood. There had been a few good memories there. But Santana couldn't shake the feeling that her skin was crawling. She went up the steps and knocked on the door.

"What do you want?" a rough voice answered.

"Abuela, it's Santana. I came to say happy Thanksgiving," she said, feeling strangely tentative as she eased the door open and stepped inside. The house seemed to have shrunk in her absence and was cluttered with a million things. But it was relatively clean. She found her grandmother sitting in the kitchen, the little television muted across from the table. She had aged, but she was still just as hard and strong as Santana remembered her to be.

"Well. I can hardly call you Garbage Face anymore, can I? You clean up real nice when you put forth a little effort. So, how long has it been?"

"A while," Santana admitted, ducking her head. An old dread unfurled itself inside Santana at hearing her grandmother's other name for her. The truth was, she hadn't been to see her grandma since before Maribel's diagnosis. Back then, she'd taken three busses, desperate to get out of a house where she felt stifled and like she couldn't be who she really was. How different was it now, really?

"Are you eating? You look too thin," Abuela observed.

"Can we talk?" Santana asked.

"I thought we were," her grandmother said, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I mean, about things that matter. So much has happened and I feel like I don't have anyone else to turn to."

"So, you only come back when you need something. Is that it?"

"I thought that was the point of having family," Santana said weakly. "I thought I could count on you when I couldn't go to anyone else."

"If you have something to say to me, say it," her grandmother said impatiently. "Stop whining. I couldn't deal with it when you were young and I can't deal with it now."

"Maribel had cancer. She died last May," Santana confided. "And we were really close, and now I don't feel like I have anyone. Plus, this total idiot at school spread it around that I…that I like girls."

"Do you?" The question was neither compassionate or patient.

"Yes," Santana admitted.

"So, you came here to tell me that the woman who took you from me died and only because you don't have her, now you want to be back in my life. And if that's not enough, you tell me that you're too weak to take the truth being told about you? Now, I know I didn't raise you. If I had, you would remember where you came from. You would remember your family comes first. And you would know better than to make me uncomfortable discussing your personal business, instead of keeping it to yourself. I want you out. You choose to live like an ungrateful, rude person? There are consequences for that. I don't want to see you again."

"Abuela…" Santana managed, her throat closing with tears.

"I should have gotten my money's worth on you when you were a child," she spat. "What are you worth now?" Slowly, she scraped her chair back, and stood slowly, walking to the door and slamming it behind Santana. The last sound she heard was the lock clicking into place behind her.

* * *

_HSM, So my father totally broke down over the mashed potatoes today. It was strange and more than a little disconcerting. I've literally never seen my dad cry, so this was new, and not reassuring. How was your Thanksgiving? How did the turkey turn out? I gave my mom a hug for you and told her you said thank you. I think she enjoyed it. It was the only highlight in a really depressing day. Hope yours was better. CB_

Sent 11/24/11, 4:30 p.m.

* * *

_CB - At least your dad shows emotion. Mine just sits there and expects me to know how to do everything. He didn't disown me, but my grandmother did. You thought I was kidding, right? Well, clearly, I'm not. I'm totally numb. The turkey was fine, but as usual, my dad wasn't happy with it. He wondered why the gravy wasn't homemade, too. I could have smacked him. Except, he's my dad, and I wouldn't. Anyway, from there it was to my grandmother's, who I hadn't seen in almost two years. I told her some of the stuff that was going on in my life and she called me selfish and ungrateful and told me she never wanted to see me again. How much crap does my mom think I can take without her? HSM._

Sent 11/25/11, 2:58 a.m.

* * *

_HSM, I'm so sorry. I had no idea you honestly had to worry about family disowning you in addition to everything else in your life. I'm here if you need anything. Don't hesitate to write, please. My father's display of emotion was actually quite rare. He's usually very stoic, but my brother liked mashed potatoes more than almost anything, so that was what caused the breakdown, I guess. I was thinking today…my parents miss my brother so much, and I'm kind of glad he's gone. That sounds terrible, but it's true, and you are always pushing me to be honest. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe it doesn't matter who we are in life. Maybe all that matters is who we were, according to those who loved us. When people die, it's easy to only remember the good stuff, even if they weren't a good person. I obviously don't mean your mom. I mean my brother. Speaking of your mom, I haven't been where you are specifically, so I don't know what it's like, but I'd like to think that it's as hard on your mom to not be there for you, as it is for you not to have her there. It's in her nature to be there when you need her. I think she still is, but it's not the same as a physical presence. CB_

Sent on 11/26/11, 4:48 p.m.

* * *

_CB - I think you're right. In the end, it's the memories that matter more than anything. Even if someone totally sucked as a person, it's still possible to love them. That's exactly how I feel about my grandmother. She is not a nice person. I didn't have to see her, but despite everything she's done to me, I still love her. Does that make her a bad person or does it make me totally screwed up? I don't know and I don't think it matters. I just feel like total crap about myself. When is it going to stop hurting? HSM._

Sent on 11/27/11, 5:02 a.m.

* * *

_HSM, Why does your dad allow your grandmother to treat you this way, if you don't mind my asking? CB_

Sent on 11/27/11, 6:35 a.m.

* * *

_CB - Because he doesn't know I saw her. HSM._

Sent on 11/27/11, 6:57 a.m.

* * *

"Sue's Kids, I am seething with an indefinable rage," Ms. Sylvester greeted them the Tuesday after Thanksgiving break. Blaine squinted, unsure of whether or not to be amused or just terrified by Sue's announcements.

"Is it because you found out the turkeys at the zoo and the turkeys on your table at Thanksgiving are probably the same thing?" Brittany asked honestly.

"No," Ms. Sylvester answered sharply. "If you'll all look around you, you'll notice that one of your own is missing."

Obediently, Blaine glanced around the room, taking a mental inventory. He noted Rachel's absence almost immediately.

"It's Rachel," Kurt offered tonelessly. "I know. She withdrew from the race and then stuffed the ballot boxes so I'd win."

Come to think of it, Blaine had heard something the day before at student elections - some rumor about ballot-stuffing - but he thought it was just that. A rumor. He had no idea that it had any weight. He had been so distracted with his own life and Thanksgiving that Blaine hadn't really paid attention to anything else until Ms. Sylvester spoke. She had a way of commanding focus.

"So, where is she?" Rory asked.

"Rachel Berry has been suspended until Friday. Which means, she'll miss Sue's Kids rehearsal this week _and _Principal Figgins has declared her a cheater, and therefore, unfit to perform at Sectionals next week!" Angrily, Ms. Sylvester wiped Rachel's name off the short list of soloists. "Now, listen up and listen well! Over the past two weeks, there has been a rash of unchampionlike behavior, and it will not stand! The only person allowed to cheat, blackmail or physically assault people with absolutely no consequence whatsoever is _me_. Do we understand each other? That means, if you have a problem with your fellow Sue's Kid, you come to me, and I as your leader, will deal with it."

"Or what?" Puck asked moodily.

"Or you can be assured that your sweet little can will be out this door so fast, you wont even know what hit you," Ms. Sylvester nodded gravely to emphasize her point. "And you will be trophyless."

Blaine watched as Brittany, Santana and Quinn exchanged worried glances.

"So, what's the theme?" Quinn asked.

Ms. Sylvester turned and scribbled on the board in purple marker: **FEARLESSNESS**.

"Let me tell you what this theme is _not_. This is _not _an excuse to disrespect me or your fellow Sue's Kids. Finn and Santana, I'm looking at you this time, and if Rachel were here, I'd be watching her, too," Sue promised. "What is fearlessness?" she asked, waiting for a response. No one spoke up right away.

"Bravery," Tina offered.

"Knowing something might be outside your comfort zone, but doing it anyway," Mike added.

"Okay. We've got one more week until Sectionals and I've got a list of sixteen - now fifteen - songs that you will choose from at the end of rehearsal. This afternoon, we will be running all five of our numbers with choreography and switching out Kurt, Mike, Quinn and Mercedes for the various solos. If you have questions, too bad."

Blaine tried to focus on rehearsals but his mind was elsewhere. On Rachel, who had gotten suspended. On HSM, who was struggling so much just to keep going every day. On Coop. On the future. On what song he might have to sing on Thursday.

Before he knew it, the clock on the wall read 5:00 p.m. and all the Sue's Kids were making a beeline for the list of songs. Blaine got up way too late and ended up at the back of the line. He sighed, defeated, when he finally got to the front and saw the only song title left was quite possibly the most lyrically complex ever. Regretfully, Blaine added his name to the list and walked out of glee practice, knowing with this song, he would have plenty to occupy him over the next forty-eight hours.

* * *

Even though there wasn't a chance in hell that Santana would make the song list for Sectionals, she still poured herself into refining her song. For once, she'd gotten one she knew well. There didn't have to be any guesswork or deeper meaning. For once, it wasn't a song that would break her down, but something she could really own and feel powerful singing. Because she already had a grasp of it, Santana flipped on her laptop before remembering she didn't have Facebook right now.

She swore under her breath, and wondered what the hell people did before computers and social media. She had no idea what any of the other Sue's Kids were doing. Did they like their song choices or did they think they sucked?

Her phone rang, and Santana snatched it up, grateful for the interruption. It was always better to be busy. She didn't want to think about the lame essay that Coach Sue had gone over with her, or peer mediation where she and Finn sat across from each other, while Joe Hart asked them to each state their side of their disagreement. And she definitely didn't want to think about her mom.

"Berry? What do you want?" Santana snapped, irritated that it wasn't at least someone she wanted to talk to.

"I was just wondering if you needed any help with your song selection for this week. I know I'm not allowed to compete, but I'd like to help, and I'd put up a post on Facebook before I remembered that you weren't on it. I called Joe and then you," she finished unnecessarily.

"No," she answered shortly.

"No, what?" Berry wondered, confused.

"No, I don't need anything from you. I wouldn't accept anything from you if you were the last person on the planet," Santana snarled.

"Why?" Berry asked, timid all of a sudden.

"Because. Your boyfriend's a world class douche bag who you defended! Even though I thought you of all people might call him out because of your dads, but you didn't. Now stop calling me, please. Afores I ends you," Santana promised succinctly.

* * *

Blaine could not have been more grateful when he read Rachel's offer for assistance on Facebook. Thank goodness she still had the big picture in mind and was still willing to help them even though she herself was banned from participating.

_Rachel Berry_

_Any Sue's Kids who are preparing for Sectionals and would like extra help with this week's homework assignment, let me know! I would be glad to work with you!_

He didn't even think. He called her up right then, praying she was still awake.

"Hello?" she asked, sounding tentative.

"Hey, Rachel!" he greeted, relieved. "Listen, I just saw your offer about homework help for Sectionals and I could really use your expertise."

She was silent on the other end of the line and Blaine rushed to fill it. "Rachel? Are you okay?"

"Santana just yelled at me," she admitted.

"Well, that's Santana," Blaine shrugged. "I'd really like your help if your offer still stands, as well as any and all advice you have for learning tons of lyrics."

"Of course. I'd be happy to help," Rachel answered, finally sounding more like herself.

* * *

Thursday morning, Santana found herself hit by a fresh round of grief. It was officially December and she wasn't ready. December meant all kinds of awful memories of getting taken away from her grandmother, coming here, the hell that was adjusting to a new place, new rules and new people. Plus, it meant Christmas without her mom was officially less than four weeks away, and Santana honestly could not deal with that.

The only redeeming thing she had to look forward to was her kick-ass song for Sue's Kids, and CB, who hadn't been in touch in four days now. So, Santana took it upon herself to give him a little kick in the pants.

_Hey CB - So what's more important than talking to me? Seriously, I feel like I'm in a communication drought after we wrote so much over Thanksgiving. And now it's less than a month 'til Christmas and I am in hardcore denial. A fun fact you don't know about me: I'm adopted. I don't normally tell people, but I guess it might not suck to tell you. You wouldn't judge me for it, right? I never really felt comfortable telling anyone, because of the questions and the automatic assumption that I must have been some kind of terrible kid. I was around plenty when people would tell my mom and dad how lucky I was to have them as parents. My mom especially would always say they were the lucky ones, because they got to love me. Nice of her to say, but I never really got it. I definitely feel like I'm on the other side of that now, though. I feel like I got all the benefits in that situation. And now she's not here to thank. HSM._

Sent on 12/1/11, 4:45 a.m.

* * *

_HSM, Absolutely nothing is more important than you. I just have the worst time focusing on what I need to do at a given moment. I space out a lot. It's a quirk I spend a lot of time trying to rectify. I'm not ready for the winter holidays either. Thanksgiving was hard enough. I definitely won't judge you for telling me the truth about your background and how you came to be in your family. I think it's awesome for everyone involved, but probably hard for you to adjust. If you don't want to talk about it or answer questions, I understand. I'm sure your mom knows you are grateful to her. You two seem so close and like you had a great relationship. Even if you didn't tell her, sometimes you don't have to say the words when you're as close as you and your mom seem to have been. Now I feel like I should share something of substance with you. So, here's something: I'm the one who found my brother. I heard him moving around a half hour before, so I assumed everything was fine, but obviously it wasn't. The guilt eats me alive if I let it. So I try not to let it, but sometimes it gets the best of me. CB_

Sent on 12/1/11, 7:02 a.m.

* * *

"Sue's Kids!" Coach Sue shouted into her bullhorn twelve hours after Santana received the latest message from CB. "Welcome to your nightmare! Destination? Horror. Your job tonight is to be fearless, while my job is to try and intimidate you. The rules are simple: whoever is best makes the list of champions. There is no crying. No running away. No blanking on your lyrics. Now, let's get going. Sam Evans! You're up first!"

Santana did her best to keep her own song in her head while she listened to everyone else perform theirs. Anderson's, in particular, was brutal, with the most lyrics she had heard in one song. She didn't know how he managed to get through it, but somehow he did, and Coach Sue didn't even stop him, so he must not have screwed up.

When it was her turn, Santana performed her song exactly as she had practiced it. It was amazing, and more than a little bit of an ego boost considering last time she hadn't even bothered to learn what song they had to sing. She sort of wished she hadn't slapped the crap out of Finn, if only for the chance to get her name up on that list.

She tried not to laugh her ass off when Finn screwed up and instead, focused on doing what she was supposed to. When that didn't work, she texted Brittany.

_He messed up._

From: Santana

Thurs Dec 1, 7:23PM

_I might mess up._

From: Brittany

Thurs Dec 1, 7:23PM

Santana offered her a reassuring smile. She shaped her hands into a heart and then the letter U. Brittany smiled back, and Santana felt a little better about everything.

Brittany, it turned out, didn't screw up. She actually had an okay grasp of her song, and Santana couldn't help but wonder if she had taken Berry's offer for help on her Fearlessness homework. If so, then Santana guessed she could ease up on Berry a little. Anyone who helped Britt was okay by Santana.

Coach Sue was clearly disappointed that no one was a total train wreck. Finn came the closest, and even he managed to save himself by totally rallying before the song ended. Santana hated him for it.

"Guess what?" Coach Sue yelled into her bullhorn. "You were all fearless, so no one wins. How's that for an ironic twist of fate?"

"So, what was the point of us learning all these songs if no one's gonna win?" Sugar complained.

"No, someone _has _to win," Artie argued. "You said it yourself. You need trophies. To get trophies, there has to be a winner. So pick one," Artie urged, crossing his arms.

"Sam Evans! You win!" Coach Sue announced.

"Wait. Why does he win?" Finn scoffed. "That's totally unfair. You're not even judging it based on anything!"

"Finn Hudson, perhaps you forgot the warning I gave you after you handed in your horrendous essay on a better way to handle your vengeful urges. If you have a problem with the way I run things, you know where the door is. The rest of you. Comment cards. Get 'em while they're hot. Most of you have heeded my warning and I commend you. Keep the intensity up and I'll see you next Tuesday and Thursday for Sue's Kids. Friday, for Sectionals!"

Santana got up and rushed toward the piano, picking her card out and tucking it into her pocket on the way out the door. She wasn't about to read it in front of everybody like some loser. So, she ducked into the bathroom and glanced over it there.

_I don't care who wrongs you in this life, Santana. The use of physical violence is never acceptable. I know I have mentioned this an undetermined number of times because I want it seared into your impulsive consciousness. Your performance was strong. Truth was, I didn't announce a winner because it should have been you. Keep your temper in check and you will be unstoppable. Your essay was impressive. You have the knowledge to become better. Apply this week's lesson. Be fearless and use that knowledge. You're worth it. Screw what other people say…except me, of course._

* * *

Blaine flipped carefully through the stack of cards before he unearthed his own. Again, he brought it out to his car to read under the harsh glare of parking lot lights. He preferred the privacy. He preferred not to be watched as he read Ms. Sylvester's thoughts. He valued her opinion because it was honest, and direct. And Blaine was constantly craving honesty. These days, only Ms. Sylvester and HSM gave him that on a regular basis. Tonight was no exception:

_You are applying correction better than any other student in Sue's Kids. I appreciate talent and terror in equal measure, but someone who listens is absolute gold in Sue Sylvester's mind. You applied yourself and got results. Congratulations. I want all your performances at this level from now on. No excuses. Do the work. Making the list is admirable, but your ability to take a critique and apply it has always been your greatest strength._

**Track Listing for Fearlessness Week:**

**Artie Abrams - How Far We've Come - Matchbox 20**

**Blaine Anderson - We Didn't Start the Fire - Billy Joel**

**Mike Chang - Won't Back Down - Tom Petty**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - King of Anything - Sara Bareilles**

**Sam Evans - The Remedy - Jason Mraz**

**Quinn Fabray - Uncharted - Sara Bareilles**

**Rory Flannagan - Your Last Day - Nickelback**

**Joe Hart - Live Like We're Dyin' - Kris Allen**

**Finn Hudson - If It Kills Me - Jason Mraz**

**Kurt Hummel - Free Fallin' - Tom Petty**

**Mercedes Jones - Through the Rain - Mariah Carey**

**Santana Lopez - Can't Hold Us Down - Christina Aguilera**

**Sugar Motta - Gone - Kelly Clarkson**

**Brittany Pierce - Aftermath - Adam Lambert**

**Noah Puckerman - Gotta Be Somebody - Nickelback**


	8. Duets

_Jesus, CB, are you trying to give me a stress disorder? That sounds horrifying. I know I rip on you a lot, but seriously? None of that is your fault. I don't know any details about your brother or the way he left…I'm not asking for them… But can I be honest? And I mean no disrespect. Your brother sounds like a bonehead, and that's putting it lightly. The few details you gave, along with your anger, paints a pretty clear picture. There is no way you should be putting that on yourself. He was your brother and it sounds like he made a stupid choice. He didn't take you or anyone else in your family into consideration. In the end, that's not a reflection on you at all. It's a reflection on him. I'm not saying hate him forever, I'm saying give yourself a break. Let yourself off the hook. You're not responsible for his choices. He was. Thanks for being cool about what I told you. Hope I didn't piss you off too much. Things are actually okay for now - mostly because I'm staying busy and refusing to really think about anything, but whatever works, right? HSM._

Sent on 12/4/11, 10:05 p.m.

* * *

_HSM, You're right, but it's easy to say the right things with the distance you have to my situation. I don't mean to be rude. I know you're trying to be understanding and be my friend through this, but I'm so tired of the secrets. The truth is, I knew more was wrong than I've admitted to you. I tried to tell my parents about it, but they wouldn't listen. They said he was fine. I just can't stop going over it in my head. What else could I have said to make them hear me? If I had just found the right thing to say, then maybe, he would still be here. Maybe it wouldn't have come to this, you know? CB_

Sent on 12/5/11, 12:49 a.m.

* * *

_CB - You're just determined to guilt yourself out over this, aren't you? Isn't six months of blaming yourself enough? Seriously, I care about you and whatever, but you need to knock it off. HSM._

Sent on 12/5/11, 12:55 a.m.

* * *

_So you're saying you've never blamed yourself for the loss of your mom?_

Sent on 12/5/11, 6:02 a.m.

* * *

_CB - Holy crap. Settle the hell down. To answer your insane assumption, yes. Of course I've blamed myself. Pretty sure everyone has. I'm just saying that it's not helping, is it? I hate that you're doing this to yourself. My mom taught me some valuable things in life, including how to be annoying as hell in my loyalty to people I care about. So get pissed. Get real. Do whatever you need to do, just don't stop writing. Bring it on, CB, I'm not kidding. I'm an expert in pushing people away. I've tried every way possible to get people to stop caring about me, but my mom never gave up on me, and I'm not giving up on you. Push me as hard as you want. I'm always gonna be here. HSM._

Sent on 12/6/11, 5:14 a.m.

* * *

Sue's Kids was meeting in a few minutes and then after that, there would be homework and rehearsal and everything else. This was going to be his only opportunity to check in with HSM for a while.

Blaine blinked in surprise as he read the latest message from HSM. She had an uncanny ability to interpret his hostile tone, where anyone else might have misread it as gently prodding. The truth was, Blaine had meant for the question to be scathing, and she took it as such. It was humiliating to be seen through; to be called out. But it was also strangely refreshing. His emotions were all over the place, and he wasn't liking it.

Why had he ever decided to confide in her in the first place? Telling someone you were adopted was nowhere near the same thing as telling someone you were the one who… Blaine couldn't even finish the thought. The bottom line was, he shouldn't have shared that. He had thought he was being discreet, but he had forgotten how blunt and astute HSM was. At best, she probably thought it was suicide that took his brother.

Now she was treating him like he had issues, which, he did. But he didn't like focusing on them. HSM should know that better than anyone. Blaine hated making waves. He preferred everything to look perfect, even if that was a lie. Now that he had started dragging out his dirty laundry, so to speak, he couldn't pretend he hadn't. It was out in the open for HSM to see and judge. The only saving grace he had was that she was just some faceless person, somewhere in the country that he never had to meet. Never had to look in the eye and own everything he had written. That was the what drew him to this particular grief group in the first place: anonymity. When coupled with the bond that losing a loved one creates, it was really the perfect thing for him. But Blaine couldn't shake the feeling that he had inadvertently shared too much. And now, it was like HSM said, he wanted to push her away. As much as he wanted to delete everything he had ever written, Blaine found he couldn't. Instead, he wrote a short reply, hoping she would realize how much he really needed this:

_I shouldn't have said anything. Can we not discuss this anymore?_

Sent on 12/6/11, 2:52 p.m.

Blaine took his time getting to Sue's Kids. He didn't want to think about themes or homework, or dance steps or Sectionals. He just wanted to let his mind go blank for a while. Which was why Blaine was caught entirely unprepared when he walked into glee rehearsal and saw the single word written in red marker: **DUETS.**

* * *

The only thing that could make Santana's life worse than it was actually happened when she walked into Sue's Kids practice and saw they were doing duets. She had already succeeded in totally pissing CB off - which never happened - but what did he expect when he alluded to freaky shit like suicide? That was a sensitive one for her, since she had lost her biological mom to suicide. Not like anyone knew that, except for her parents and her abuela. Not like it really mattered, except for the fact that she had been a toddler and totally messed with her head. She didn't blame CB for not wanting to talk about it, but Santana couldn't sit by and watch him blame himself for something he didn't even have a part in. She'd expected emotions but she hadn't thought he would get short with her and not want to talk. Santana shook her head to clear it and made herself pay attention to something else. Anything else. She sneaked a glance at Brittany.

Britt pointed at herself, then Santana, and then the whiteboard. Santana smiled and nodded. Doing a duet with Brittany would be the perfect thing to take the awfulness in her life down to a tolerable level. It was only then that Santana realized Coach Sue was talking. Scratch that. Berry was talking. Just Santana's luck that her suspension was over and they all had to hear her opinion on everything.

"We already know what duets are. Mr. Schue told us last year," Berry said obnoxiously. "And I already knew the definition before that…" she added under her breath.

"Thank you for that absolutely pointless observation," Coach Sylvester quipped. "Fortunately, for me, the world doesn't revolve around one Rachel Berry. Would any of my newest Sue's Kids like to take a crack at what the word duet means?"

Santana slouched in her seat, beyond grateful that she wasn't one of the new kids. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Sugar pretended to be interested in her nails and Rory just looked concerned. Anderson had an expression that should have been patented - like what Coach Sue was asking was totally stupid, and he was above it - Santana appreciated his attitude and thought maybe, he wasn't as lame as she used to think.

"A duet is a song written for two people," Joe offered, after raising his hand tentatively.

"Yes, it is, and this week is what I like to call Hell Week," Coach Sue said smugly.

Santana snickered as Joe's mouth fell open, and a look of honest-to-God fear crossed his face.

"Which means! You will be singing duets assigned by me. Your partners will be assigned by me and you will practice on your own time to make these duets flawless. You will perform them for everyone Thursday. Whichever duet is the most flawless will be featured on Friday night at Sectionals."

Santana bit her lip. With her luck, and Coach Sue's sick sense of humor, Santana would end up with Finn, and they'd end up spending forty-eight hours trying not to kill each other.

Of course, after dropping that piece of info on them, it was back to business as usual. Coach Sue ran everything else to make sure transitions were smooth, choreography was correct and most importantly, the songs didn't suck. Kurt, Mike, Quinn, Mercedes and Sam were officially assigned solos. Berry was forced to sit out, observe, and take notes, which for Santana, would have been awesome. But it sucked for Berry, whom Santana had once overheard saying, "I need applause to _live_," and she had been serious. It wasn't until the end of rehearsal that the subject of the homework came up again.

"Now, for my favorite part of Sue's Kids: torture." Coach Sue intoned. "Since actual torture is frowned upon, I'll now be announcing the duets. It's up to both parties to contribute equally in researching and understanding the message behind your song, as well as in the performance itself. If I suspect any foul play, your duet will be disqualified from consideration and you will be on my list of shame. Kurt and Blaine. You will be singing _Endless Love_, originally performed by Diana Ross and Lionel Richie."

Santana smirked as the Wonder Twins stared at each other. Of course Coach had done it to them on purpose. There was nothing she liked better than messing with people. But that made Santana nervous again, for her own assignment. Would she even get one?

"Sam and Brittany. You will be singing _I Got You Babe_, by Sonny and Cher," Coach continued, not even stopping short when Britt asked seriously, "Is that about a pig?"

"Mike and Tina. Your song is _You Don't Bring Me Flowers_-" Coach did stop here, due to the pathetic squeak that escaped Berry at the song title. "As I was saying, by Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand.

"Quinn and Rory. Your poison is _Unforgettable_ by Nat King Cole and Natalie Cole. It will be up to both of you to tell me what makes this song unique.

"Mercedes and Artie. _I Knew You Were Waiting _by Aretha Franklin and George Michael.

"Santana and Rachel," Coach Sue continued, and Santana's head snapped up. The only thing worse than being paired with Finn was being paired with Rachel Berry. "You both are in the unenviable position of being on my List of Evildoers. One of you - Rachel - " she added under her breath, "is ineligible to perform at Sectionals. And the other - Santana - is on Sue-induced probation, and is not eligible to be considered for a solo or a duet position. _However_, I still expect a performance at the highest level. Your song will be _No More Tears (Enough is Enough) _by disco goddess, Donna Summer and her trusty sidekick, Barbra Streisand."

"Yes!" Rachel exclaimed. "I, of course, will be glad to sing Barbra's part."

"Of course," Santana muttered under her breath.

"Okay! Let's wrap this up! It's not a celebratory moment! This is supposed to be _terrifying_. Finally. Sugar and Joe. The dread I chose so carefully to bestow on you is a song called _Up Where We Belong _performed by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes.

"And that means, Noah and Finn will have my final nugget of fear: _Over and Over _performed by Nelly and featuring Tim McGraw. Now get out of here and practice, or there will be consequences," Coach promised.

* * *

Blaine had agreed to meet Kurt at the Lima Bean and then head to Kurt's to rehearse. They didn't have a lot of time, which worked both for and against them. On one hand, they had exactly fifty hours to make sure their assigned song was perfect. They also had the advantage of having worked together before. Blaine knew Kurt's voice, and vice versa. They knew exactly what the other was capable of. But, and this was a severe _but_, their song was obviously a love song. And Blaine had obviously screwed that up. Not to mention the fact that Kurt's house was overflowing with memories. Blaine couldn't be there and not think about movie nights, stealing kisses, or even waking up in Kurt's bed hungover after Rachel's party last year.

It was sheer luck that Brad, their pianist, had CDs with their accompaniment prepared in advance. It wasn't common, but Blaine supposed that for the sake of Sectionals, it was something Brad had seen to. Blaine could have played piano for them, but it was a duet, and it wouldn't have looked right aesthetically to have him behind an instrument and Kurt somewhere else while they sang about their endless love for each other.

The song was more of a stumbling block than Blaine had anticipated. For a while, he and Kurt just stared at each other, neither one willing to be the first to initiate any kind of first step in the rehearsal process. Then, all at once, Kurt spoke up.

"I think it would be wise if we took all of the theme weeks into account when we did this. It's not a class, but I wouldn't be surprised if Ms. Sylvester looked at it like a final, or some kind of comprehensive exam. I think she'd want to see if we were paying attention over the last couple months and took her lessons to heart. All my comment cards have some variation of 'Great voice, but I'm not moved,' and 'don't play part of the person with an emotion, just feel the emotion.'

Blaine raised his eyebrows. He hadn't thought about what these last seven homework assignments had been like for anyone else, least of all Kurt. Actually, he had assumed that since Kurt won the first week, he had very little to improve upon.

"Mine seem to call attention to my lack of focus, but she says I take constructive criticism well. So that's something, I guess."

"Okay, so," Kurt announced briskly, walking to his desk and grabbing a piece of paper from a blue notebook. "What were the homework themes we had to remember each week? Theatricality…I remember that, because I won…"

They continued filling in the blanks until they had all eight themes represented. "So basically," Blaine mused, looking over the list. "We should try to incorporate everything into this performance."

"That's what I just said," Kurt insisted impatiently.

"Fine. So, how should we do that?" Blaine asked. If Kurt wanted to take charge, Blaine would let him.

"Well, obviously we need to make sure we know the song first of all. If we mess up the words or the melody, that'll be it. So, let's look at this like a process. We have to build from the ground up. So…" he said, putting the CD in and pressing play. "Let's go."

Blaine kept his attention focused on the computer screen, where their lyrics were displayed, and not on Kurt, who was entirely too close right now. Blaine could smell his cologne and couldn't concentrate. His proximity would have been enough on its own, but with the singing Blaine didn't stand a chance. Kurt sounded wonderful, and it left Blaine remembering when Kurt had sung with the Warblers. There had been late nights, other duets. There had been a connection that simply didn't exist anymore.

"Seriously, Blaine? I'm beginning to see why Ms. Sylvester gave you all those comment cards about your focus," Kurt commented, barely masking his impatience.

Blaine did his best to mask his hurt, but by doing that, he also ended up thinking about things he couldn't afford to. Like, what could his junior year have been like if Blaine hadn't messed everything up? If Coop were still alive? If he had bothered to answer one of Kurt's calls or texts, or come to the door even one time over the summer when Kurt stopped by to see if they could talk about things? But Blaine hadn't done any of that. And now they were here.

"Blaine. _Blaine_. We _have _to get this right," Kurt urged. "I have a million other things to do, and it's only a matter of time before Finn gets home, and I have to fight to keep our song in my head when he's singing like a rapper-slash-country singer!"

"Why? You already have a solo, right? Why do you need the duet on top of that?" Blaine asked bitterly, before he even knew what he was saying. "This isn't even a big deal, Kurt."

Kurt blinked. "Who _are you_ right now? _This _is Sectionals. I already lost the student elections. That might not matter to you, but a Sectionals win would go a long way on my application to NYADA. Your future might be set in stone, but mine isn't. We seriously don't have time to fight. I know it's awkward. I don't want to do this anymore than you do, but lets just do it and get it over with…" Kurt trailed off, as he noticed Blaine hadn't said anything. "Are you okay?"

_No_, Blaine thought. _Because nothing is certain. Definitely not my future. I have to face it without my brother._ The grief stole Blaine's breath, coming quick and strong.

But he pushed it back and forced himself to smile. "Fine. Come on. Let's run it again. I know it's always been your dream to give Diana Ross a run for her money, just like it's mine to sing a Lionel Richie song…" Blaine rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and hoped whatever concern Kurt had felt for him had evaporated.

* * *

Santana braced herself and knocked on Berry's door. If she had her own way, Santana would have just thrown the performance. They were already on Coach Sue's List of Evildoers and the List of Shame simultaneously, so what else did they have to lose? She pursed her lips, figuring that was exactly why she had been assigned Berry as her partner. Because Berry was physically incapable of passing up a performance opportunity. Coach probably thought they'd bring out the best in each other or something. She was about to knock again, when the door was pulled open, and there was Berry, breathless and sweaty.

"Come in! I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I was just preparing our performance space."

"Our what?" Santana asked warily, making her way down to the same basement where Berry had once tried to make drink tickets for wine coolers into a thing. Santana glanced around when she got to the bottom of the stairs. It looked the same as it had last time to her.

"Performance space," Berry repeated. "We need an optimal location if we're going to do our best work. Do you know the song?" she snapped.

"I maybe heard a cover of it once when I was ten…and it wasn't a duet it was a solo. Why does it matter? I figure you know it," Santana scoffed.

"Unfortunately for me, I'm not singing it as a solo, which means you _will _have to learn it. So , how do you learn best?"

"Excuse me?"

"I want to know how you learn best so I can figure out the most efficient way to help us succeed," Berry tapped her foot.

"I usually just go on YouTube and watch a video with the lyrics, a live performance and then a music video if there is one."

"It'll be easier if we just use the CD Brad gave us. I've taken the liberty of getting you a lyrics sheet. My lyrics have gold stars by them. Yours, as you can see, are highlighted in yellow." Santana cringed, but Berry looked so damn proud of herself, handing Santana the papers.

Santana got the distinct feeling, though, that Berry was humoring her when she pulled up a video online, with two voices Santana was ashamed to admit, she couldn't discern between. But Berry actually wasn't a bad teacher. Santana could almost see her in ten years, bossing around a room full of kids in a music class. It was everything she was good at. Of course, Santana would never say as much to her. In fact, she was still pissed that she could stand by Finn after what he did to her.

But it was December 7th and Santana was all out of rage. She hadn't heard from CB in days, ever since he asked her not to discuss his brother or CB's own guilt anymore. But it was more than that. Santana was lonely. She remembered reading the journal entry by her mom from exactly one year ago. Her mom had been alive this time last year, and now, she just wasn't. In place of the rage, Santana just felt defeated. Anger didn't really change anything anyway, did it? She hoped the hell not because she just didn't have the energy to yell at Berry right now, and do a passable job on the song, too. So, she listened and sang the parts Rachel indicated, letting herself take direction for once instead of being a total bitch.

"Your voice is actually beautifully resonant. I think we'll sound good together, don't you?" she asked tentatively.

For a minute, Santana couldn't speak. All the words were dammed at the base of her throat and none would come out. All this time, and Berry could still find reasons to compliment someone who absolutely despised her. "I hate you. You know that, right?" she managed, just to make sure it was clear.

"I know," she confirmed regretfully, studying her hands in her lap.

There was silence then. The awkward kind that neither one of them could adequately fill, so they just let it grow until it became heavy and unbearable. Finally, Santana couldn't stand it anymore. "Why do stay with Finn when he treats people like shit?"

"Because I'm afraid he's the only person who will want me. The only person who wont leave. I guess, deep down, I…don't feel like I deserve any better…" Rachel said softly.

_Well, there it is,_ Santana thought bitterly. _The proof that Berry and I aren't really that different after all._

The realization, all laid out like that, depressed the hell out of Santana. "Everyone leaves," she remarked, her own voice hard and unforgiving.

It was true, and Rachel should know it. She probably _did _know it. It was probably why she walked around like she knew every damn thing. Her confidence really some kind of fragile shield to protect her from the fact that she would, inevitably, be let down. That everyone would leave, and she would end up alone. Santana had similar feelings based out of similar pain. If Santana let herself really sit back and think about it, they weren't so different. Both had been given up by mothers who were supposed to love them. Both were adopted by parents who, though they tried as hard as they could, never managed to fill the hole left by the woman they had been born to. No, they really weren't that different, and that was exactly what built the wall between them. Santana couldn't handle seeing pain so similar to her own reflected in someone else's eyes. She couldn't take watching Rachel try so hard, and always, somehow coming up short. Santana did the same thing, didn't she? Rachel was the good girl. Santana was the badass. They were flip sides of the same coin.

Rachel only nodded and went back to singing about being done taking people's crap, and leaving, when Santana knew she never would.

* * *

Blaine wasn't ready at all when he got up early on Thursday morning. He and Kurt had practiced a ton, but it had yet to get less awkward. He couldn't look Kurt in the eye and fake the emotion behind the song, and ironically, that was all Kurt seemed capable of. True to Ms. Sylvester's critiques, Kurt seemed committed to playing the part, not actually feeling a real emotion. Even though Blaine couldn't imagine tapping into real emotions either. So, they performed strangely.

He ended up behind the piano after all, while Kurt hovered around it, singing like an angel. But Blaine already knew what Ms. Sylvester would say to them.

"Absolutely hideous," she announced when they were finished, and Blaine bristled. She had given similar reviews to Sugar and Joe, Quinn and Rory, Sam and Brittany and Santana and Rachel. If Blaine's math was right, only Mike and Tina, Mercedes and Artie and Finn and Puck stood a chance of being featured at Sectionals. Blaine had to admit, he wasn't feeling very hopeful about any of the last three duets. Until Mercedes sang the first line of _I Knew You Were Waiting_ with Artie. They left no room for doubt.

"Mercedes, if you don't mind, I'm going to pull you from the partial solo you have now, in order to fully preserve the ringing chest voice of a young Aretha Franklin and the soothing tenor of a wannabe George Michael for tomorrow night."

"No, we don't mind at all," Artie smiled.

"Now, that _that _dose of ear-trauma and subsequent auditory bliss is over, we need to get moving. Do you think the Unitards and the Warblers take a day off? That was rhetorical. If you don't know what rhetorical means, Finn and Brittany, I urge you to look it up on your own time. You can do that with a large and somewhat obscure book…called a dictionary…"

"I just look everything up online. Wikipedia's really reliable," Finn stated.

"Sometimes, if I dress up like a red oracle and use my psychic powers. And if they don't work, I ask Lord Tubbington. He always tells me the truth, except when he lies about posting those embarrassing pictures of me on Facebook," Brittany insisted.

Blaine's chest tightened at the mention of the Warblers. He hadn't thought of them much since Thanksgiving, and certainly hadn't had time to consider them as competition. But they would be. They would be here, in McKinley's auditorium, in less than twenty-four hours, so Blaine had to be prepared. He poured himself into rehearsal and grimaced at the comment card he received. It was, by far, the worst he had ever gotten. He happened to notice that almost everyone else received a similar one this week.

_I don't assign things arbitrarily, Blaine. So much positive progress and then you give me this? I don't like it. I will not accept it. Get your act together and get it together fast. You are here because you have something to contribute, so my advice to you? Find it._

* * *

Santana wasn't ready in the least for this. Yet another school event that her mom would have come to, but wouldn't show up to, because she couldn't. So she split her time trying to figure out what the hell Quinn was thinking, trying to ruin Ms. Corcoran's life, by planting stuff in her house with Puck, to try to prove she was an unfit mother. The whole idea made Santana's stomach cramp.

What if her abuela had that kind of access to Santana and tried to prove the Lopezs were unfit? She loved her abuela, but would she really have wanted to go back and live with her, especially knowing what she planned to do? What she had been capable of? And that wasn't even including the fact that there was no way Santana would have wanted anyone trying to destroy the life Maribel had fought so hard to build for her. Santana wasn't comparing them, but she was thinking of Beth, who was stable and happy right now, and didn't need her life turned upside down by her hormonal biological mom who was making horrible judgment calls, even though Quinn probably just really, really missed Beth.

"Are you really going to do this?" Santana hissed.

"Why do you care?" Quinn snapped, her voice hushed so as not to draw attention to Coach Sue who was barking orders at the front of the room about water consumption and vocal warm ups.

"She's taking care of your kid, Quinn. And newsflash? If you have to _plant _the bad stuff? She's a good mom."

"_I'm _Beth's mom," Quinn whispered angrily. "Not the woman who gave up her own kid just so she could take mine. Now, please stop talking. You don't know the first thing about it. You have the best mom in the world. So until you understand what it's like to lose everything that matters to you? Don't talk to me."

Santana felt her cheeks flush, and she looked away in time to sing scales with the rest of Sue's Kids, with Sue none the wiser. Even though they both knew the truth. Sue saw everything. She definitely knew more about what was going on than Mr. Schuester ever did. Rumor had it, he was in the audience tonight. Santana hoped he wouldn't try and talk to them. Then he would probably get all emotional. How awkward would that be?

* * *

Blaine stood in the wings, willing himself to hold still. The urge to move was so strong in him that he couldn't fight it. In a way, it was good to have had _Les Mis_ leading up to this. He felt more comfortable up here now, even though his parents still hadn't come. Tonight, they had legitimate excuses. His dad promised they would come if Sue's Kids made Nationals. Blaine knew they were in Chicago this year, and he needed the team to make it. He needed something to take his mind off what would definitely be a terrible anniversary.

All of a sudden, the curtains were open, and Mercedes and Artie were singing their hearts out. It was beautiful, but Blaine couldn't help but be nervous. Sue's Kids were first in the lineup, which meant that their performance had the most potential to fade from the judges memory, so they had to shine. Lucky for them, Mercedes and Artie were doing a great job, with the song, and the choreography Brittany and Mike had come up with on the spot. Blaine liked to think that no one would suspect they had learned it in two hours. It looked that polished, but then again, Brittany and Mike were pros at choreographing and working with each member's strengths.

In the course of their performance, Sue's Kids somehow ended up doing three mashups. Their first was coming next, so Blaine assembled onstage with the rest of the guys, knowing the girls would join them onstage midway through. Mike took the solo and did a great job with it. The challenge, as usual, was maintaining the integrity of the music while dancing. It was always a fight, but Ms. Sylvester had trained them well. Well, she had demanded they take Mike and Brittany's advice and expertise about staggering their breathing, so it sounded more together. Blaine was so happy when the girls came in, specifically the sopranos. Even without Rachel, Kurt, Mercedes and Tina really projected and kept everyone on point. The altos - at least Quinn and Santana - were reliable. Blaine couldn't help but wish, though, that he had the Warblers' strong male voices behind him instead of these guys. They were great. It just wasn't the same.

Their next mashup began with a solo by Sam, and some of the hardest choreography Blaine had ever done. There had been many late nights dedicated to mastering this. Fortunately, it also featured his favorite moment in the whole set and that was Quinn's Indian-influenced solo. She completely owned it and hit every single note, not losing her breath once, even with the choreography she was supposed to do. Blaine admired that so much, and couldn't help thinking that with her contribution alone, they might have come significantly closer to a victory at Sectionals.

Fourth in their lineup was Blaine's only respite, because this song featured only the girls for the first half. Ms. Sylvester, in a show of startling openness had decided that Kurt would take the solo, originally designated for a girl, and he did an amazing job. Then, it was time for the men to go back onstage and finish off the number.

Finally, it was time for the last song - another mashup - but hopefully a major crowd pleaser. Thank God for Brittany, Mike and Kurt, who all provided valuable insight and help with everything from choreography and swagger to lyrics and everything in between. It ended before Blaine was even sure what had happened and then it was out into the audience to wait and watch. The worst part, if you asked Blaine.

* * *

Santana waited impatiently through the Warblers and the Unitards and tried desperately to block out the sound of Berry giving way too many corrections to anyone who would listen. The Warblers made Santana want to vomit, because it was the first time she had seen Sebastian since Scandals. She hated to admit it, but he was damn good. He had to be. He had every single solo spot the Warblers had to offer. And the Unitards had some freak of nature soloist named Harmony, who Berry claimed she and Hummel somehow knew, and had acting credits from while she was still in the womb.

She was pretty convinced they stood no chance in hell of winning, especially since Coach Sylvester hadn't said a word to them since they stepped offstage. She hadn't clapped or looked impressed but then, she never did, even when they did a decent job at something.

The competition was finally over, and the results were announced. Santana held her breath. She hadn't thought she'd care this much but damn it, this kind of thing had been important to her mom. She couldn't help remembering how into it she always got from the audience. It was totally embarrassing, but Santana missed it now. She remembered all the mentions in the journal they shared about how her mom promised to watch over her and be at all of her events, big or small. Even though Santana rarely prayed anymore, she sent up a tiny one to her mom.

"Help us win," she whispered so faintly it might have just been her hope.

Santana was so preoccupied, she didn't even hear the announcement for third place, but judging by the tense looks on everyone's faces, Sue's Kids were still in the running.

"Second place goes to the Dalton Academy Warblers, which means McKinley High School's Sue's Kids is moving on to Regionals! Congratulations!"

At that moment, Santana didn't care if it was lame, she was celebrating with everyone else. This was a moment she could savor. One moment when she could let herself feel joy. She didn't think her mom would mind. In fact, if she had to bet, Santana was pretty sure her mom was celebrating just as much from wherever she was, with the best seat in the house.

**Track Listing for Sectionals:**

**I Knew You Were Waiting by Aretha Franklin and George Michael (Featured duet by Mercedes Jones and Artie Abrams)**

**Heartless/Battlefield by Kanye West and Jordin Sparks (Sue's Kids minus Rachel Berry. Featured soloist: Mike Chang)**

**I Can't Breakaway/Jai Ho by Big Pig and Pussycat Dolls (Sue's Kids minus Rachel Berry. Featured soloists: Sam Evans and Quinn Fabray)**

**I Told You So by Carrie Underwood (Sue's Kids minus Rachel Berry. Featured soloist: Kurt Hummel)**

**She Drives Me Crazy/Crazy In Love by The Fine Young Cannibals and Beyonce (Sue's Kids minus Rachel Berry.)**


	9. Generosity

"Sue's Kids? If you think I have forgotten about the travesty that was Duets week because your victory at Sectionals, you are sadly mistaken. Also, if you think we are going to take even one day to bask in the glory of advancing to Regionals, you would be wrong again. We have twelve Sue's Kids rehearsals between now and then. Six homework assignments. Six solo slots. Three for our gentlemen and three for our ladies.

Speaking of Regionals, I need to know if any of my Sue's Kids are proficient in Italian."

Blaine raised a hand hesitantly, and more confidently when he saw no one else had.

"All right. Blaine will be what I like to call your dialect coach. Blaine, if they aren't up to standard, I give you Sue Sylvester's blessing to beat the offender with biscotti."

"You do know that biscotti's just an Italian cookie, don't you?" Blaine asked hesitantly.

"Why yes, Mr. Know-It-All, I do," Ms. Sylvester intoned. "Now, Mike and Brittany, I need to reinstate you as choreographers. If you choose to accept, I'll need even more greatness from both of you."

Blaine watched as they nodded.

"I have a question," Artie spoke up, his hand raised.

"And what could that possibly be?" Ms. Sylvester asked.

"Are the people who made your List of Champions for Sectionals ineligible for it now, or how is that going to work?"

"Whether or not you make the List of Champions is up to you. The winners from the first round are entirely eligible to make the list again, just as all the rest of you are eligible. It's all about the performance you give and the effort you put forth. Which reminds me. Finn, Santana and Rachel, you remain on my List of Evildoers, which means I still have my eye on all of you. However, all three of you have the ability to make a new name for yourself on my List of Champions. Now. This week's theme will be a little different."

"By constantly making the themes different, she's kind of taking the mystery away…" Sam muttered.

Blaine watched as Ms. Sylvester picked up the green whiteboard marker and scrawled: **GENEROSITY**.

"Generosity means being generous!" Brittany announced and pumped her fist. "I'm so good at this!"

"Thank you for that redundancy," Ms. Sylvester sighed. "Since this week's theme is generosity, I, your commander, have seen fit to extend a little generosity of my own. This week, and only this week, you will be allowed to select your own song of generosity. However, this week's homework assignment is two-pronged. You will also be judged on your generous spirit. So, in addition to a performance on Thursday, I want a detailed account of something you did, unprompted, just for the good of it, not because you will get anything in return. Giving money does not count. Singing your song of choice for an audience, willing or not, does not count. I want you to _do _something. Something that honestly requires your time or your help. Something outside your own comfort zone, perhaps. Outside your family, definitely. I don't want to read sixteen accounts of how you helped your parents out by cleaning your room. Do something meaningful. Do not accept payment of any kind."

"Wait. How are we supposed to do this and learn a song in two days?" Puck asked. "I don't know anybody that needs help."

"Then, I urge you to look closer, Noah," Ms. Sylvester said seriously. "Now, before you leave today, I need to sign off on your songs for generosity week, so use this time wisely."

Blaine's first thought was unexpected, but he knew it was what he had to go with. Coop always said to trust his instincts. That's why, after two hours of exhaustive rehearsal, learning just one of their five new songs for Regionals, Blaine approached Ms. Sylvester with his request:

"I'd like to sing Beyonce's _I Was Here_."

The rest of it? Well, Blaine wasn't so sure…

* * *

Santana didn't know what she was thinking, voluntarily picking a song by her mom's favorite singer. Everyone had told her mom when she was alive that she could be a doppelganger to Gloria Estefan. So why the hell would Santana go up to Coach Sylvester and tell her she wanted to sing _Coming Out of the Dark_? That was just asking for some kind of breakdown.

Doing that plus deciding how to be actively generous was enough to send Santana into some kind of a ridiculous state. She used to volunteer at Lima Memorial, as a candy striper. Her favorite part was holding the new babies in the nursery with no one to visit them. Now, Santana could barely drive by a hospital without feeling lightheaded. So, that was out.

She thought of her mom, though. Santana wanted to honor her somehow. In a way that didn't scream for attention. All of a sudden, Santana remembered last December with the New Directions. Being _this_ close to hacking off her ponytail to raise money for something or another. Mr. Schue had stopped them - all the girls were going to do it - but he wasn't here to stop her now. Her mom had been confident, with or without hair, but Santana couldn't shake the mental image of her in the salon chair, crying quietly as she got her head shaved, before the chemo could take all of her hair. Santana had offered then.

_I'll shave my head, too_, she remembered saying, and being so ready. _That way, you won't be alone_.

But her mom had refused. _Don't even think about it. Just your being here is enough, mija._

Obviously, it hadn't been. And obviously, Santana couldn't go to a salon and trust that she wouldn't get all emotional. So she called Brittany.

"Hey, I need you," Santana said, and Brittany hadn't asked anything. She had just shown up, like Santana hoped she would.

"What's up? Does this count as generosity homework?" Brittany asked. "Not that I did it for that. You know I'd come and help you anytime."

Santana gestured to the pair of scissors and the tape measure on her dresser. "I need you to measure my ponytail. I marked eight inches, so just make sure that from the ponytail holder to the end reaches the red line. Then I need you to cut it."

Brittany's eyes got wide. "Your hair's too beautiful to cut. It's soft and so shiny. It reminds me of Lord Tubbington when he was a baby…" she said sadly.

"Britt, I can't ask anyone else. Please, just do this for me?" Santana asked. "Eight inches, and cut just above the elastic," she reiterated.

"You're sure. Because you don't have to do this, Santana. You can come with me to the animal shelter and play with all of Lord Tubbington's obese brothers and sisters. That always makes me happy. Plus, doesn't your mom always say never to cut your hair when you're sad?"

"Who says I'm sad?" Santana snapped.

"Your face," Brittany observed quietly.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Let's do this. Chop-chop," Santana urged, turning her back to Brittany.

"Okay… Don't you worry. I'm basically a pro at this. I cut Barbie's hair all the time, and then Ken tells her that he likes it better long, and he sleeps in the guest house."

Santana smiled weakly, hoping Brittany was as good at this as she claimed to be. Santana had been growing her hair out since her mom's diagnosis. It was time to do something with it.

In seconds, it was over, and Brittany handed Santana the hair. Her head felt so much lighter, and her neck felt cold.

"You're beautiful," Brittany said gently, embracing her from behind, as chills rose on Santana's arms. Hadn't she said that very same thing to her mom, after that stylist shaved her bald?

Santana carefully tucked the hair in a Ziploc bag and put that into an envelope, labeled for Pantene's Beautiful Lengths. Based in Strongsville, and specifically for women who were battling cancer. She had already tucked in the donation form, with a note:

_In honor of Maribel Lopez, my mother._

To everyone else, it would just look like Santana got a haircut. But _she _would know, and Coach Sue would know, because Coach Sue had this way of knowing everything. In the end, though, the only thing that mattered was that Santana did something to help. Something to tell all those other girls' moms that they weren't alone in the fight.

* * *

Blaine knew that the assignment for generosity week was not to throw money at a problem, but that was, admittedly, the only thing he really felt comfortable doing. Not that his family had money to spare.

Still, he had to find some way to help someone. He knew he couldn't show up at the local theater or donate time to anything that brought Coop to mind. The loss was too fresh, and it hurt too much. But that didn't mean there weren't still plenty of people who needed help. It started when Blaine shoveled the driveway for a neighbor, who had been snowed in, thanks to the recent storm. This neighbor was the nicest guy anyone could meet. He had also served in the military. Blaine didn't ask questions, but he did make sure to thank him regularly.

That brought to mind the people still overseas. A quick online search brought up a pretty comprehensive list by a soldier, detailing what they actually used, versus what ended up in "the community box." So, Blaine made a trip to the local Walmart - not where he usually shopped, but his wallet couldn't afford more - and filled a box with various items. In went beef jerky, nuts, cookies, dried fruit, socks, coffee and shaving cream. It was an odd collection, to be sure, but Blaine wanted to send what was needed, and what would be used, instead of what he thought they could use.

He drove home carefully, going over the lyrics to his generosity song in his head. It was a great theme, actually. And despite Ms. Sylvester's previous assertion that Sue's Kids wasn't a class, he found that he was learning more through his four hours a week than any of his real classes, for which he put in almost as much time.

"Look closer," Ms. Sylvester had said when Puck had claimed he didn't know anyone who needed help. Guiltily, Blaine thought of HSM. He hadn't written to her in over a week. He wondered how she was. What he could offer her that would help her feel better, that wasn't monetary or self-indulgent.

When he got home from the post office, Blaine took a deep breath and booted up his computer, logging onto his Hope & Healing account and typing a new message:

_HSM, I'm sorry for being so short with you. My brother is a sensitive subject, as you probably guessed, but that doesn't excuse my behavior toward you. I apologize. This isn't me making nice or being overly-polite, just sincere. I hope you can see that. I am still angry, but at my brother, not you. He died of a drug overdose…not any of the other reasons my parents have given. I don't know what he was using and I don't want to. It made him violent and turned him into a person I didn't want to be around, but a person my parents continued to love and defend, even though I continue to fail to live up to even the most minor of their expectations. I don't want to assume that you celebrate Christmas, but happy holidays nonetheless. I figured with your desire for honesty, you wouldn't mind if I got very honest with you. I just can't hold the secrets in anymore. If you need to talk, I'm here, but no pressure. I don't know what the holidays will be like without my brother. I actually can't wait for them to be over. I hope you're okay. CB_

Sent on 12/14/11, 3:53 p.m.

* * *

In some kind of freaky cosmic joke, Joe Hart won the a solo spot with his generosity homework. It wasn't a joke, actually. Santana figured he was a good guy - word had gotten around he was the one who told Coach Sue what Finn had done to her weeks ago - defended her even - when she would have put money on him telling her she was going to hell.

If the theme had been naïveté, Santana would have given him the win hands down. Apparently, though, his song choice was the one that put across the theme best. Even she had to admit that he gave a solid performance and almost sold her on the idea that the song could be interpreted outside of a religious framework. They didn't share what they had done for their acts of generosity - that was just for Coach Sue to know - thank God. All Coach had said was something about a 'detailed account' of their act of generosity. Well, a picture was worth a thousand words, right? That was why Santana took a single photo of the hair donation form, her ponytail and even the note mentioning her mother. Joe had probably given someone his shoes, fed every homeless person in Lima and healed all their problems with his magical Teen Jesus powers.

Joe still won, but it didn't matter. Santana had given a distant performance at best. It was either be distant or fall apart completely, like Anderson, Hummel, or Berry - all of whom had managed to make idiots out of themselves by breaking down when they were supposed to be thinking of others when they sang anyway.

Santana's comment card had read: _Five steps forward, six steps back. You're afraid of your own power and emotion. Don't be. Embrace them. They are what makes you human. P.S. A beautiful way to honor your mother, but I have no idea how you felt about it. You're a bit of an enigma, and I understand there is intention behind that, but I don't like it. I want to see YOU, Santana. I want to know something - anything - about how your act of generosity affected you personally. Did it change you? Would you do it again? Why or why not? _

Santana had nothing to say. And besides, that was then. Now, she was right at the beginning of a horrible two weeks, where she had nothing to do but wait for Christmas to be over. She had no idea what the hell she was going to do with herself. At least she'd stopped the crying in the morning, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. If anything, it hurt more.

Her dad had put up a tree, but it wasn't decorated, because he didn't know where her mom kept the ornaments, and Santana didn't want to go looking. She didn't want to see all the reminders of Christmases past. All her childhood artwork that her mom liked to plaster all over the kitchen. Santana's first Christmas ornament she had made in kindergarten right after she moved in with the Lopezs. It was supposed to be made with a school picture, but Santana hadn't been enrolled there yet. The teacher asked her to bring in a picture from home, and Santana had ignored her. It was Maribel who had taken a picture of Santana, when she read the note in Santana's backpack.

In the picture, her eyes were wary, and her smile was so big it was obviously fake. In those days, she still wasn't answering to her name - thank God the ornament was just labeled with the year, 1999. She still had nightmares and woke up screaming. She wouldn't let anyone touch her, and was terrified of the bathtub for reasons she could never really remember.

Santana shook her head, wishing she wasn't thinking about this. She _hadn't _thought of it actually, for a long time. But she didn't want to start now. Santana reached up to tighten her ponytail, before realizing that she didn't have enough hair for that anymore. Hers stopped abruptly at her chin now. Whenever she thought of her hair, she felt this strange feeling. A little like an ache and a little bit like pride, because she knew she had done the right thing.

Sighing, she opened up her Hope & Healing account and was shocked to see a message from CB. He had given her the silent treatment for over a week, and all of a sudden he was back. She wondered what changed, but her mouth fell open when she read his message. She didn't hesitate before writing him back.

_CB, hey - I thought you hated me. But I admit, I'm glad you don't. I don't know what I would do without you now that I've got all this free time on my hands. No friends to hang out with because they're all hanging out with their families. I do celebrate Christmas, but I plan on sleeping through it this year. I can't face it, CB. Our tree is completely bare because both my dad and me are too chicken to go find where Mom put the Christmas decorations last year. I also wanted to say I'm sorry that's what took your brother. As much as possible, I understand. My biological mom did that same stuff, I think, when I was little. She died when I was three. Suicide. So…I get it. Kind of. I know it messes with your head because it sure as hell screwed with mine, even though I was just a kid. I understand the self-blame, too. Even as a kid, I thought I had done something wrong. Nobody was around to tell me differently - not for a few years, anyway - and I can't imagine going though that at the age I am now. I know it sucks. I know it's terrifying. I know about the dreams and the ways we cope and don't cope. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm done giving advice, and I'm here, to just listen, if you want to talk. My mom I'm grieving now…she died of breast cancer. It's so hard to be without her because she was the first person who made me believe that I was special. Worth something. You know? She always told me she would never leave me, and now, she's gone, and all I've got left are journal entries and letters she wrote. I know that's a hell of a lot more than some people, but it just makes me miss her even more to read them. They just make me want her here so much. Last year, this time, she wasn't doing well, but she pushed through and did the decorating and stuff like she always did. She let us help, but she did most of it herself. By New Year's Day, she was really starting to deteriorate and we just spent all day in her bed, toasting everything, and watching The Food Network. She never really regained strength after that. Sorry for all the oversharing. I don't know where it came from. I just miss her. Feel free to share about your brother or not. I won't judge you either way. I promise. Take care, and please, no more silent treatment? I'll lay off you, I promise, just don't leave me to get through this damn holiday alone. HSM._

Sent on 12/18/11, 11:55 a.m.

* * *

For Blaine, unfortunately, it was Christmas as usual at the Anderson house. They listened to _Trans Siberian Orchestra_ while they wrapped gifts, decorated the tree as a family and planned to attend the Christmas Eve service, since the Andersons were nothing if not devout. They made an art of avoiding any discussion that involved Coop. It was agonizing. But the only thing more agonizing would have been talking about him, so Blaine didn't know which extreme he preferred.

Christmas was bad enough, but he was still reeling from Thursday's performance in front of Sue's Kids. It had been humiliating. To sing those lyrics and think of Coop's legacy, and how much Blaine wanted his own to be different. But even more at the idea that Coop might be somewhere, regretting what he did. Blaine didn't want to sympathize with his brother, but at that moment, he hadn't been able to stop it. At least he hadn't been alone in his showing of emotions. Both Rachel, with her performance of Celine Dion's _That's the Way It Is_, and Kurt with his rendition of Sara Bareilles's _The Light_ had been tearful, if not generous. Only Joe Hart seemed to fully grasp everything Ms. Sylvester asked of them - which is why it was no surprise to Blaine, when Joe won.

Blaine's comment card read: _Congratulations, you're officially a human with real human feelings. To be a champion, you have to learn to balance emotion and professionalism. It's a lesson that took a young Sue Sylvester many years to learn, but I am confident in your ability. No one wants to go to a concert by one Blaine Anderson and come away depressed. They do, however, want to be moved. Put emotion into your performance, not performance into your emotion. Also, your act of generosity moved me. Particularly your realization that it was not the packing the items in a box and sending them, but helping your neighbor, and listening to him that really impacted you. Filling a person's loneliness is something I have experience with, and it is, indeed, what should matter most. It's all about connection, and it touches my cold heart to know that you're letting your guard down, little by little._

It was easy for Ms. Sylvester to talk about letting down his guard or the way to balance his emotions with his performance. She wasn't in his shoes. Then again…hadn't Kurt mentioned something the week before Nationals? Something about his not being able to keep their date because he had to sing at his former cheer coach's sister's funeral?

Had that been Ms. Sylvester? It had to have been.

She lost a sister. He lost a brother. HSM lost her mother. Two, actually, according to her latest message to him. Maybe everyone was just coping the best they could in a world that didn't stop for losses.

Blaine sighed and turned his I-Pod on to his own Christmas playlist. There was only so many sweeping orchestral songs a person could take. He needed something with lyrics. Something with heart. When his parents were sufficiently blocked from his mind, Blaine opened his laptop and got down to the business of writing back to HSM.

_HSM, I could never not talk to you. It wasn't fair of me to disappear on you, but I just needed some time to get my thoughts in order and realize that the world wouldn't end if you found out the truth about my brother. I'm sorry it took me so long to come to that realization. I won't leave you, if you don't leave me, okay? Because I can't to Christmas as usual, like my parents seem so set on doing. The same way it's killing you that things are so different? It's killing me that things are so much the same. The tree is the same. The same music. The same decorations. The same church services. It's like nothing has changed, when everything has changed. It really does mess with my head. I had no idea you had experience losing someone you love to addiction. Had I known that, I might have confided in you a long time ago…but it's just as likely that I might have stayed silent about it. It's different in my family. You and your mom seem to be so honest. Your family is so there for one another - as much as you can be - even your dad. Both my parents have made a lifestyle out of pretending and protecting appearances. But what good is an appearance when you're dying inside? What good is the projection of a good family when one of your own is drowning? I don't really know what I'm saying, except that I'm grateful for you, and I'll do everything in my power not to leave you. I won't promise, because I get the feeling you've had enough of those broken in your life, so they might not mean as much now. The journal and letters you shared with your mom sound really special, but I understand how they could be painful, too. I'm kind of glad my brother didn't leave anything behind. I don't want to know what it would have said. Besides, he already had let me know in no uncertain terms that he hated my guts and didn't trust me with anything. I think the loss is becoming more real to me, though, and I'm not sure what to do about that, especially when my parents are so set on denying everything. Can I ask you a personal question? Did your mom ever give you any advice about your feelings about your biological mother? Did you ever admit to her any of your feelings - and if so, you don't have to say what they are - just… Did she tell you what to do to make the pain stop? To help you stop blaming yourself, if you were? I hope these aren't too invasive. If they are, I apologize. As always, feel free to answer or not. Just know that I feel like I know your mom through you. Not in a creepy 40-year-old way, as you might claim, but in the way that her memory is alive in you. Thanks for listening. I've missed talking to you. I have some free time, too, and I'll be stuck in the house with my parents, so expect to hear from me quite a bit. CB_

Sent on 12/19/11, 1:38 p.m.

* * *

_CB - Writing with tears in my eyes, thanks to your beautiful comments about my mom. It hurts, but it's good, too, that she can still help people. I think she'd like knowing that. You asked if my mom ever gave me advice about the loss of my biological mother. The answer is, she didn't give me advice so much as help me understand. I'm going to share this with you, but please don't share it with anyone else, okay? This is for your eyes only. This is one of the first things she wrote to me in the journal we shared. She wrote this right after her diagnosis:_

"_I know you're hurting right now and you don't want to listen to anything I say, but I need you to understand, mija. My diagnosis is not your fault. You did nothing to cause it. It wasn't caused from stress or anything else in my life. Sometimes, life just sucks. Sometimes, things just happen. It might seem easier to take the blame, but it isn't healthy, honey. Remember when you first came to live with us, and you were always saying your mommy died and it was all your fault? That she didn't love you? I said, you were just a little girl, and she had some very big problems, but I have to believe that she loved you as much as it's possible for a mother to love a child. I told you that sometimes, people have a sickness that gets too big for them to fight. It's nobody's fault. The same is true now. You didn't stop living when your mommy died, because you're strong. And no matter what happens to me, I want you to know that it's nothing you did, or didn't do. You have given me so much joy. Joy I would not have known had I not known you. Don't give up, no matter what happens. Know that, regardless of the outcome, I fought as hard as I could. I want you to embrace life. Don't live punishing yourself. It's not worth it. You have so much to give. Live your life because you can. Because it's amazing. Just because illness and abuse and terrible things exist in the world does not mean you have to embrace them. Make a different choice. Even if, when you read this, I am gone, choose to treat yourself as I would treat you if I were here, and whole…"_

_I can't write anymore. I think I'm going to go to bed. I'll talk to you sometime after Christmas. Hope this helps. Merry Christmas. HSM._

Sent on 12/25/11, 2:05 a.m.

* * *

Blaine felt the lump in his throat, but tried to swallow it. Nine a.m. on Christmas morning, and the festivities were all but over for him. The Christmas Eve service had been last night, and it had been beautiful. Blaine loved the sanctity of it and the music of course. On the way there, though, they had stopped by the cemetery with a little tree for Coop's grave, and a gift. Blaine got out with them and flushed with embarrassment as they left the present. Partially because it seemed so pathetic, and partially because Blaine hadn't thought to do something for his brother.

His parents woke him at six o'clock this morning. Usually, it was Blaine who woke everyone else, but not this year. There was hot chocolate, and more orchestra music, but there was no Coop. In his absence, Blaine got everything he wanted and more. He got things he didn't need. A new laptop. New clothes. Scarves. Gift cards. Pajamas. Boxing gloves. A new keyboard.

Blaine found himself wondering where his parents found the money to pay for all this stuff, but he tried to make himself feel grateful anyway. They were trying, weren't they? Still, he knew no amount of money could buy back what they really wanted.

He gave his father a tie and his mother a scarf of her own that he had found somewhere online. They were very appreciative, but again, it didn't fill their emptiness. There was still a hole they were incapable of filling. Coop was the heart in this family. The pulse. The life. Without him, they were barely existing. It was like some kind of other universe. Blaine could hardly stand it.

Which is why, he booted up his new laptop and began writing a long letter to HSM, who was likely sleeping, but he imagined she might like a letter when she woke up. Especially if her Christmas was as empty as his own had been.

_Merry Christmas, HSM, I am writing you from a brand new laptop. I don't say this to brag, but just so you'll understand what kind of day I've had. Three hours, really. Christmas happens early around here. I got everything I wanted…and I'm miserable. The house was eerily quiet without my brother, who was always the life of any holiday or celebration. He'd be cracking jokes or talking in some crazy accent. The Christmas I was nine, he told this ridiculous story about how he was in the car with our mom when some teenage guys unrolled their window and asked for her number. I can't possibly recount the story as well as he told it, but it was hilarious. Our mom is very sweet but strong, and she just unrolled her window and said that she would get their license plate and give it to the police. Then my brother said, "I AM the police!" - he was in costume from this commercial he'd just done - so he was in a blue shirt that I guess looked like dress blues? Anyway, the kids got all pale, and my mom and brother drove off. He told the story and we were, like, rolling on the ground. It was so funny. My father, of course, didn't see the humor and was all put off that teenagers were hitting on his wife…but this is what my family is missing now. Your mom's letter to you was beautiful. I can honestly say, your sharing that with me is the best gift I could have gotten today. I know I need to try and do that, but my good memories of my brother are from so far back. I was six years old and he was already having trouble. But I guess I do have good memories. When I was really little, he used to tell everyone that I was his gift from Santa because he'd been so amazingly behaved. We didn't really play together, because there was such a big age difference, but he was always teaching me things, and protecting me. He was always recruiting me - a two and three year old at the time - to do his elementary school plays - if they needed younger kids. I loved being onstage with him. Back then, he always made sure I was safe. I like to think that's the real him, even though I didn't get to see much of it. Anyway, I hope you are sleeping well, and that when you wake up, you're able to enjoy the day, even in some small way. This has been the toughest year of my life, but also one of the best, because I got to know you. CB_

Sent on 12/25/11, 10:03 a.m.

* * *

Santana groaned and rolled over hearing something plastic hit the floor and scaring the crap out of her. She opened her eyes, feeling tears on her face, and not even knowing how they got there. Glancing around, she finally spotted what had fallen. Two homemade DVDs. Each one had a yellow Post-It note attached, labeled #1 and #2. Santana tried to stifle her tears as she reached for them. On her way up, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table: 8:41 p.m. Eighteen hours. Seriously, that had to be some kind of record. But maybe she was finally making up for the previous seven months, and only sleeping a couple hours each night.

She dumped the DVDs on her bed and squinted at the notes attached. The first one read: _Merry Christmas, Love Dad. _She opened her laptop and couldn't help smiling as the text appeared on the screen, with hokey old-school music, informing her that her dad had gotten someone from work to help him make this. And exactly what it was:

_I know you like music, so this is a collection of songs I got together from - some favorites of your mom and me when we dated. Hope you like them, sweetie. Love, Dad._

Santana was in tears for the entire hour and a half it played. Because it wasn't just songs. There were pictures of her mom when she was young. Santana's age. Looking so in love and happy with everything. There were pictures of them on dates, at amusement parks, on walks, just at one or the other's house. There were pictures of the wedding, and all the years leading up to when Santana came to them.

It was the best gift she could have gotten, short of her mom, of course. The end of the DVD had more text.

_Your mom wanted to be last. Play DVD #2 now._

Squinting suspiciously through her own tears, Santana slid the last DVD into her computer, and her breath caught in her throat. It was a video. It was her mom. Sitting in front of her. Looking pale and tired, but there. Talking to her.

"_Merry Christmas, Santana. I love you so much. I thought long and hard about what to get you this year, and then I realized…there's nothing you'd want more than to see me…"_

She sounded so wistful. So sad. Santana touched the screen, trying to memorize her mother's features. The pitch of her voice. The way she bit her lip when she was thinking. All the mannerisms Santana had forgotten over the past months.

"_I'm so sorry I can't be here for you this year, mija. I bet Dad couldn't even find my secret location for all the Christmas decorations, could he? But I'm sure you have a tree. If I know your dad, I know he wouldn't overlook that. I can't ask how you're doing, because I'm afraid I know. I love you, honey, and you have to know I never want to leave you. I'm fighting like hell to stay with you for as long as I can, but I'm afraid I need to start preparing for what comes next. That means making sure you know I'm here for you every day, but especially the tough ones."_

Her mom took a deep breath and composed herself, forcing a smile.

"_So, tell me what's going on in your life? Are you still cheering? Still in glee club? You had better have gone to New York. That has always been my dream. Was it incredible? Did you see a show? I wish I could have gone along and embarrassed you as the crazy mom, who tells that Mr. Schuester off, and of course, sample all the incredible food, and cheer for you at Nationals. I know you gave it your best. How are Quinn and Brittany? What else is going on in that head of yours?"_

Santana had to smile. After every single question, her mom paused, like she genuinely expected Santana to answer her. And it wasn't long before, Santana _was_ answering her. ("I met a friend online. He calls himself CB. He lost his brother a week after we lost you.")

On screen, her mom just sat, 'listening'. Her chin rested in her hand, and her face looked interested. It was almost like they were on Skype together or something. It was way better than the journal, but still way worse than her actually being …this was so much more than she ever expected.

"_Now, as much as I want to, I can't sit here forever. I need my beauty sleep. So, go find your dad and give him a hug. Don't argue, just do it. You two need to figure out a way to work together. I'll do my best but I trust that you both can make this work. I love you more than life, Santana. You're everything beautiful in the world to me. Believe it, because it's true. If you're ever up early enough and see a beautiful sunrise, or you find something that reminds you of me, know that it's my way of connecting with my girl. I love you so much."_

* * *

It was after nine p.m. by the time Santana was done reveling in her parents' Christmas gifts to her. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and made her way to the kitchen, where she saw a light on. For the first time, she felt bad that she hadn't thought to get her dad anything.

"Hey," she said softly, feeling weird in her sweats when he was dressed in a hideous Christmas reindeer sweater and black pants.

"Merry Christmas," he said, offering her a sad smile.

"Merry Christmas," she echoed, walking up and hugging him awkwardly. "Thank you for everything. I loved the video you made. It was perfect," she said, kissing his cheek.

"Glad you enjoyed it," he said, his voice thick. "Here, let me get you something to eat." he said, and she heard the toaster pop, and the microwave beep almost simultaneously. A strawberry Toaster Strudel with white icing and a cup of hot chocolate appeared in front of her.

"It's like you planned this," she said, laughing nervously.

"Well, I heard you moving around and figured you must be hungry. The last thing I want to do on a hard day is cook…so…"

Santana averted her eyes, oddly touched by how hard her dad was trying. As hard as she tried, she couldn't think of anything to say to fill the silence.

So her dad did. "I like your hair like that," he offered.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. It suits you."

* * *

_CB - I slept the day away, and just woke up an hour ago, to the most amazing gifts. One from my dad…and one from my mom. Then I went downstairs and my dad made me Christmas dinner - a Toaster Strudel and hot chocolate - but they made an unexpectedly emotional night even better. Your brother sounds like he was hilarious. His story about the police made me laugh my ass off, and God, CB, I needed that. I'm sorry your Christmas sucked. Hang onto those good memories for all their worth and keep searching for more. Merry Christmas, and really, thank you for everything. You've helped me more than I can explain. If you need me, you know where I am. Take care, and I hope you dream of some fantastic show you starred in with your brother. That or him saying "I AM the police!" Haha. That will never get old. Sending love, HSM._

Sent on 12/25/11, 9:40 p.m.

**Track Listing for Generosity Week:**

**Artie Abrams - Winter Song - Sara Bareilles**

**Blaine Anderson - I Was Here - Beyonce**

**Rachel Berry - That's The Way It Is - Celine Dion**

**Mike Chang - That's What Friends Are For - Rod Stewart**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - The Gift - Colin Raye & Susan Ashton**

**Sam Evans - Dare You to Move - Switchfoot**

**Quinn Fabray - Christmas Shoes - NewSong**

**Rory Flannigan - All These Things That I've Done - The Killers**

**Joe Hart - Hands and Feet - Audio Adrenaline **

**Finn Hudson - Your Song - Elton John**

**Kurt Hummel - The Light - Sara Bareilles**

**Mercedes Jones - Cry Out to Jesus - Third Day**

**Santana Lopez - Coming Out of the Dark - Gloria Estefan**

**Sugar Motta - Give Peace a Chance - John Lennon**

**Brittany Pierce - Kind and Generous - Natalie Merchant**

**Noah Puckerman - Give a Little Bit - Supertramp**


	10. Tenacity

On New Year's Day, just when Blaine thought he was out of the woods with regard to holidays and their significance at least until Easter, he realized he was very wrong. He woke up to voices from the direction of Coop's room. Tears. Determination.

_God, not today_… was all he could think. But, if not today, when?

Bracing himself, Blaine got up and stopped in the doorway of Coop's room. "What's going on?" he asked carefully.

"We've decided it's time," his father said simply. He didn't need to elaborate. Blaine watched his mom folding Coop's clothes and crying, while his dad was going through boxes, trying to determine if anything at all could be kept.

Blaine swallowed once. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to HSM:

_They're cleaning out his room. I can't deal with this today. What do I do?_

Sent on 1/1/12, 9:39 a.m.

"Come on, son," his father said. "If you'd like to be involved, you're welcome to," he encouraged, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"Um…I think I'm going to take a shower first," Blaine hedged. He barely made it to the bathroom before he became violently ill. The room, he told himself. Nothing more. But it wouldn't stop. And Blaine couldn't even think about getting in the shower. He couldn't think about anything other than the cold sweat that came over him, at the sight of Coop's bed - the last place Coop had been. It was empty, but it didn't _feel _empty. It felt too full of everything. Memories. If his parents found anything, Blaine didn't want to know about it.

Instead he sat on the heated bathroom floor, his knees drawn to his chest. He couldn't deal with this today. He felt hot, then cold, like he might pass out, but Blaine held strong. The last thing his parents needed was another trauma to witness. And he knew instinctively they'd see this as a trauma.

He tried to breathe, and get himself together, but it was more difficult than Blaine thought it would be. Maybe it wasn't the room, after all. Maybe, he was really sick. That thought wasn't appealing, especially when he had to face school in a day or two. He wished for a pillow and blanket. Wished his parents weren't preoccupied with Coop again and could take time to realize he wasn't feeling well, but Blaine pushed past it. He was used to taking care of himself. He waited until he didn't feel quite as disgusting and slowly stood up, walking back to his room and closing the door. Then, he stuck a chair under the handle and got back in bed.

He'd take a page from HSM. Maybe if he slept through today, by the time he woke up, it would all be over.

* * *

Going back to school after a break sucked, but at least it gave Santana something to do. It was nice, too, that she didn't have Sue's Kids rehearsal to deal with for a few weeks. Christmas had taken a ton out of her, and now that it was over, Santana felt more depressed than ever. She even felt bad about that. She should be grateful, shouldn't she? She had gotten to see her mom. That was so cool, and, yeah, exactly what she'd wanted, but it wasn't the same. Now, she was stuck in the same place she had been before. Missing her mom like crazy.

Santana tried to stay busy. She tried not thinking about things. When Coach Sue pulled her aside, having a shit fit because Anderson was absent and she needed a status report on how well her Sue's Kids were learning Italian, Santana offered to look into it.

She called Hummel, even though she didn't think he would have any idea what was up.

"What is it, Satan?" Kurt answered tersely.

"Any idea where your ex is? Coach is losing her shit about him not being here. They were supposed to meet or something…"

"The operative word in that statement was _ex_, Santana. The last time the two of us truly talked, we were rescuing you from Sebastian, the Westerville troll."

Santana winced, but spoke with a sickly sweet sarcasm. "You're welcome."

"Call Mike or Brittany," he suggested. "They have a class with him. Maybe they know what's going on."

"Whatever. Thanks for nothing, Prancy," she snapped.

So Santana wasted even more time calling Britt, who only wanted to talk about how grading on a curve wasn't fair, because their was nothing curvy in her English syllabus.

"That's why everyone gets better grades than me! _They _see the curve. I see nothing. Just words and paper. How am I supposed to aim for something I can't even see. I put C for all the answers, in case it was a code or something like, curve starts with C and all the answers are C. I took a quiz like that once, but this one wasn't it. I got zero percent."

"That sucks," Santana said honestly. "Do you know where Blaine is?" she asked carefully.

"No," Brittany sulked, "and he always says he'll help me with this stuff. Mike tries, but he's not as good at explaining things as Blaine."

"All right, thanks Britt. And if you need help, you know, I'm around."

Santana hung up and eyed Coach Sylvester. "He's out. No one seems to know where. I called Kurt and Brittany. I don't really know who else he hangs out with, though, so…"

"Fine, you're excused," Coach Sylvester insisted. "Spread the word that if that Italian isn't perfect by our next meeting, I'm instituting Sue Sylvester's obstacle course of doom in our next meeting."

Santana rolled her eyes and got the hell out of there.

* * *

_CB - Don't panic and keep a low profile. Find other stuff to do. Sorry it took so long to respond. My computer's been screwy and I don't have H&H on my phone._

Sent on 1/1/12, 1:23 p.m.

Blaine smiled ruefully to himself. He loved that, no matter what, HSM always wrote back. Better that he got it late than never.

By now, days had passed, and so had his horrendous flu, without HSM even being the wiser. His being sick got him out of Coop's room-cleaning, but it didn't keep him from overhearing his parents' sadness. His mom's tears and his father's strained cursing, when everything just became too much for him.

He had just come home from school, grateful for the break, but also glad to have something to occupy his time. He went to his room, to drop off his bag and write HSM back, when something caught his eye. A piece of paper on his desk.

Curious, Blaine approached it, and picked it up, squinting at it. The minute the writing on it became clear, Blaine felt his heartbeat speed up. He dropped the paper back on the desk and stared at it, uncomprehending.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

By: Cooper Anderson,

Period 4 English

October 4, 2001

_I was born on September 21, 1987 in Westerville, Ohio. I weighed 7 pounds, 11 ounces and was 21 inches long. I was healthy and loud. My parents gave me a lot of love and opportunities. _

_As a kid, I played a lot of sports, and was very good in all of them, but I didn't love them the way I loved theater. It took some convincing, especially of my dad, before he would let me pursue the arts full time. That's where the best thing in my life comes in._

_He's not really a thing, he's a person. My baby brother, Blaine. He was born when I was eight, and him being born really mellowed out my old man. He started letting me do what I wanted instead of what he wanted. He even let me take Blaine to my auditions for elementary school plays when Blaine was a toddler. That is my favorite memory with him. The play was __The Jungle Book__. I played Mowgli and Blaine played a monkey. My school didn't usually cast kids as young as Blaine but he was so good at following directions that they made an exception for him. He loved everything about theater, just like I did. He loved the costumes and makeup. He loved the props and repeating lines that made the audience laugh. That's when I knew I had an ally. That's when I knew I didn't have to be alone in fighting against what my dad wanted for me. Blaine and I were the same. The same, but different. Because Blaine's love of theater was pure. I loved theater because I could become someone other than who I was._

_Blaine would sit and watch rehearsals for hours and try to copy everything I was doing. Lots of kids my age would be annoyed by that, but I thought it was really cool. He took direction like a professional at two and three years old. If I had that kind of start, I would probably be way better now than I am. But I want Blaine to have it better than me. He deserves all the chances in the world to do what he wants and not have to worry about conforming to what my dad or anyone else wants him to be. He is going to be a star, and I'm going to be just okay. But I don't mind, as long as one of us makes it._

_I don't want my brother to make the same mistakes I am making. I want to be the kind of brother he can look up to, but I am afraid I won't be. I just can't seem to stop messing up. I can't please anyone. But I know that no matter what, Blaine is always on my side. And I know he loves me no matter what happens. _

_I hope he knows that I love him, too, no matter what happens._

* * *

Blaine couldn't breathe. Why had his parents left this for him, where he would be sure to see it? God, how could HSM stand having journals full of her mom's thoughts? Blaine felt light-headed just looking at this. His heart wouldn't stop racing in his chest. Though it was agonizingly hard, Blaine did the math in his head. Coop would have just turned fourteen when he wrote this. He'd have been a high school freshman. So, Blaine would have been six. He remembered some of the trouble Coop referenced.

He remembered finding a lighter and playing with it because he wasn't sure what it was but he liked the color. When there was fire on the end, Blaine had panicked and his mom had come running, taking it away from him and scolding him, saying, "You know better than to play with fire."

But Blaine hadn't known it was fire. He'd just liked that it was lime green on the handle part. When she asked where he found it, he'd pointed to Coop's backpack. That's when she found the cigarettes. That's when there had been a ton of yelling and Blaine had hidden in his room, acting out scenes from _Henry & Ribsy_, his first grade play. Blaine was the narrator, which meant he had the most lines. All the other kids used papers to read their lines, but Coop had helped Blaine memorize all of his. So Blaine recited them to block out the sound of their father yelling at Coop. He lost himself in the other characters. Imagined himself in another family. It had helped, a little.

Blaine shook his head at the memory. He'd never really gotten past the idea that all of this was his fault. If he hadn't gotten into Coop's stuff. If he hadn't found the lighter and gotten Coop in trouble, maybe none of the rest would have happened.

Clutching Coop's freshman year autobiography to his chest, he tried to catch his breath. Blaine sat down at his computer and wrote, hardly thinking about the words as he typed them:

_HSM, God, I'm freaking out. I came home today to an old school assignment of my brother's on my desk. I think my parents found it when they were cleaning his room. It's his autobiography from years ago. I was six years old when he wrote it and it literally feels like I'm holding onto the last genuine piece of my brother… God, I can't breathe. I feel like this is all my fault. Like he wouldn't have done all this stuff if I had been a better brother. I know your mom would say it's not my fault but you guys don't know how things happened. It's my fault my parents found out he was into anything bad in the first place. Maybe if I had just left it alone, they never would have known and my father wouldn't have yelled at him and made him feel so bad about himself… I don't know. Please write back as soon as possible. I hate to beg, but I can't deal with this. Please don't make me do this alone. CB_

Sent on 1/5/12, 2:25 p.m.

* * *

The closer it got to Santana's birthday, the more on edge she became. Thanks to her mom being diagnosed on her birthday three years ago, Santana was a wreck for the days leading up to it, and for her, a wreck meant in private only. In public, she was a straight up bitch. The only respite from all the stress was writing to CB, which seemed like it would totally not help, but in a way it did.

_CB- Okay, calm down. Breathe. I hate that I'm not there in person because then I could definitely make you listen to me. Seriously, though. It's okay. You didn't do anything to cause your brother's struggle, you were just a kid. It's like my mom told me, and I don't give a rat's ass that my mom and I weren't there to see exactly how things went down in your family. You were six years old. You were not responsible. Got it? His choices were his choices. And, God, CB, if your parents found a sliver of genuineness in your brother's hellhole of a room and chose to give that to you? I'd cling onto that shit for all it's worth. When you've got your head on straight and when you can do it without going totally crazy and panicking, read your brother's paper again. Look at the words he chose to use, don't focus on what you think he's saying, okay? Deep breaths. I think this could be awesome if you could stop blaming yourself. What do you think? HSM_

Sent on 1/5/12, 2:33 p.m.

* * *

_HSM I can't stop shaking. I'm trying to calm down, but I can barely type. Okay, I'm breathing. Okay. I think I'm okay. That just brought up an old memory for me that I hadn't remembered for a long time…and I…I don't know…I just knew that my brother referenced it in that paper he wrote when he talked about making mistakes. He seemed so defeated. But, he also said he loved me, no matter what happened. It's from ten years ago, but I almost don't care. Do you know what I mean? It doesn't matter how long ago he said it, just that he said it at all. It helps. I hope you're doing okay post-Christmas. Way harder to get into the swing of things than I had anticipated. Oh, and Happy New Year if I didn't mention it already. Thanks for being my voice of reason. How are you?_

Sent on 1/5/12, 2:56 p.m.

* * *

In the coming week, Santana spiraled. It was awful. She went to class and did the work, but if anyone talked to her, they were quickly met with the wrath of Auntie Snix. People in authority, especially. Her dad, especially. Her teachers. She just felt like she had to fight everyone.

Miss Pillsbury tried to get her in for a session but Santana still didn't feel like talking and just sat, while Miss P. waited patiently, in case Santana felt like saying anything. Which, she never did.

By the time her actual birthday rolled around, a week after CB's freakout, Santana could feel herself unraveling from the inside. When an asshole sophomore guy approached her in the hall and leered at her, trapping her against the lockers, and claiming that he could "make her normal" Santana hadn't hesitated before kicking his ass. She recognized him from the football team and knew without confirmation that he and Finn must have somehow known each other. She poured every ounce of anger she had into hurting this kid, all the while knowing that her mom would be so pissed if she could see Santana now.

She was so busy beating the crap out of him that Santana barely felt it when arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her away. Barely registered Brittany's quiet words about how violence wasn't the answer.

"Get off me! Just let me go!" she screamed, totally ready to let the little shit have round two of Santana's anger.

But Britt's grip was like a vice. Santana had forgotten how strong she was. By now, Coach Beiste had intervened and the little jerk was on his way to the nurse. Santana was trembling and tried like hell to stop. The last thing she wanted to be right now was weak, but she couldn't seem to hide it. She shook Brittany off, hoping she hadn't caught onto the fact that the little shit and scared her. Or that he wasn't exactly little, and in fact, had a good few inches and at least thirty pounds on her. Thankfully, Santana had had rage and the element of surprise on her side.

"What happened, missy?" Coach Beiste said, using her weird-ass country nickname.

"Nothing," Santana spat.

"That guy was harassing her," Brittany interjected softly. "He pushed her up against the lockers and said he was going to make her normal. She fought back. It was self-defense."

"Shut _up_, Britt. Does it look like I need your help right now?!" Santana exploded.

"You were just beating up a tenth grader. So, I think so, yeah," Brittany said, using her own no-bullshit tone. Britt's temper rarely made an appearance, so when it did, it was effective. Not like her own, which showed itself so often that it lost its impact.

As usual, there was no consequence for going all Lima Heights at McKinley. Only in Sue's Kids did she have to own up to anything, and thank God that wasn't meeting for a few more days. Santana wasn't naïve, though. She knew Coach Sue had eyes everywhere. She'd have a way of knowing exactly what Santana had done, and she'd be on Coach Sue's shit list indefinitely.

When she got home that afternoon, Santana was still on edge. Britt had tried to give her a birthday surprise, but Santana had blown her off. Having her birthday acknowledged was like rubbing salt in an open wound. Every time someone wished Santana a happy birthday, she waited for the other shoe to drop. ("Happy birthday! Oh, by the way, you're life's about to change forever and not in a good way.") So she tried not to pay attention to it. But when she smelled cake baking and saw a few presents waiting for her, she went to her room and slammed the door. For once, she didn't confide in CB. He was dealing with his own crap. Instead, she tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, Santana felt that sophomore's eyes on her, smelled his awful cologne and felt cornered. It made her skin crawl and Santana had no doubt that if she hadn't fought back, he would have forced himself on her in some way - or at least - that was her fear.

She hid out for as long as possible, until her dad called her for dinner. It was weird to have him home on a weekday, even weirder for him to cook, but Santana tried to go with it. She sat down at the table and this crazy déjà vu settled over her. For some reason, it totally reminded her of Thanksgiving, and bailing on her dad to go visit her abuela, who hated Santana anyway.

"Happy birthday," her dad said, coming over and giving her a hug. Santana accepted it stiffly, waiting.

"Thanks," she managed.

"What's going on?" Did something happen?" he asked. Just her luck that he had been more attentive lately, and maybe even absorbed some of her mom's superhuman ability to just know when something wasn't right with her.

"I don't know. Did it?" she asked. Santana didn't mean for it to come out testily, when she was actually feeling terrified, but just her luck, it would.

Her dad gave her a measured look. "Santana, is there something you want to tell me?"

"No," she scoffed. "Why would I tell you anything? I never have _before_…"

"You know what?" her dad said, losing his patience. "All I wanted was to make tonight special for you. I know I'm not your mother, Santana, but I'm doing my best. Can you at least try to enjoy this?"

Santana bit back all the angry words that wanted to come: _You can't be my mother, so be my dad. Protect me. Where were you when I was approached by a total creepy loser today in the hall, who threatened me? Yeah, I handled it, but I shouldn't have had to. Where were you when I was a kid, alone and freaked out? Where were you when my abuela told some asshole exactly how much she thought I was worth? When the money changed hands? When the cops came and everyone ran?_

She shook her head, clearing away the bad memories. Where the hell had they come from anyway? "Fine. I'm sorry." She swallowed. "Thank you for dinner."

"Honey, you don't have to thank me. I'm not looking for that. I just want to have a nice dinner with my daughter. Tell me about school. How is it being back? Anything happening?"

Santana shrugged. "I don't know."

"How's your glee club? I saw Mr. Schuester the other day. I thought he was still at McKinley, but it turns out, he's not. He said he got fired after the trip you took to New York? He's real down on his luck. Came in for a physical and I diagnosed the flu."

"Dad, that's disgusting. I'm trying to eat here," Santana interjected, because seriously? How was she supposed to enjoy anything with the image of Mr. Schuester getting a physical by her dad? "The New York trip was last year…and you didn't tell him we're related, did you? 'Cause that would be _so_ embarrassing."

"No, but I thought _you_ might tell _me_ he's not your glee club director anymore. Who's leading now?" he asked and Santana blinked.

"Coach Sylvester."

"Wait. How come Mr. Schuester got fired anyway?"

"Because he left us unsupervised while he went to pursue his pipe dreams of being on Broadway, or something, I don't remember…"

"So, your cheer coach is your glee coach? How's that going?" he asked.

"It's been four months, Dad. It's fine. If it wasn't fine, I wouldn't be doing it," she insisted, scraping her chair back.

"Wait! Hold on a second. What about cake? And presents? Sit back down here."

Santana sighed. Acting like a decent person was taking a lot out of her. This day was crap and all she wanted to do was sleep, but maybe a few more minutes, and she'd be off the hook.

She opened her presents - she got a few things from her dad - jewelry and money for other things she might want - and then there was only one more gift. Wrapped in paper Santana hadn't seen for at least a year. Labeled with her mom's handwriting.

"Uh, Mom wasn't able to go out and do much shopping, but this is something she wanted you to have. Go ahead, open it." her dad urged.

Carefully, numbly, Santana peeled back the paper until she was holding a four-by-six picture in a frame. She looked at it carefully, trying to remember a time when she looked that young, or that sad. In the picture, there was Santana, around the same age as she was in her first Christmas ornament picture. She was in her mother's arms, but leaning away and looking at the camera with a haunted expression. Her hair was dirty and she was pale and thin. Her mom, though, looked so young and alive, and happy, even though emotion showed on her face. Her mom wasn't even paying attention to the camera, just to Santana. She seemed completely resolved and ready for whatever lay ahead.

"I don't remember this…" Santana managed.

"Your mom didn't want to keep it at first, but we decided to. That's the first picture we have with you, just after you came to us. The day I became your dad was the best day of my life, and I know becoming your mom was the best day of hers. I think that's why she wanted you to have this. To remind you of how far you've come."

_Not as far as you think_, Santana wanted to say, and finally, she excused herself and went to her room, hiding the picture from sight, and forgetting all about her cake, and the candles, and the wish she didn't make.

It wasn't like it mattered, though. The only wish she really had could never happen anyway.

* * *

_Hey CB- Sorry I haven't gotten back to you. Glad you're doing better. I'm also glad we seem to be on opposite schedules when it comes to crappy days. Seriously, when is it going to get easier? It was just the anniversary of my mom's diagnosis and I totally could not handle it at all. It's been a few years, but the first that she's actually not been here. It just made me nervous as hell all day, you know? Like, who else am I going to have to worry about losing today? And I can never act like a normal person about it, I have to lose it and act like a total asshole. If my language offends you, feel free to avert your virgin eyes. Sorry. See, there I go again. I don't mean to be a jerk, it just comes out. In place of everything I'm actually feeling. The terror and the rawness and that FEELING that everything I have is going to come crashing down. Not everything. Everyone. I could care less about stuff. It's people I can't stand to lose. I hate that I can't do anything to keep them here and that I push away the ones I still have. These messages make me glad I'm not seeing a shrink, because I'm pretty sure they'd tell me I'm totally screwed up. You're way better than a shrink anyway. HSM_

Sent on 1/14/12, 12:32 p.m.

* * *

Blaine glanced around nervously. They hadn't had a Sue's Kids meeting in a month, and now, they were meeting in the gym. Mike was telling Ms. Sylvester that it was dangerous to practice choreography on a waxed gym floor, and she was using her bullhorn to urge him back in line.

"Sue's Kid's, I am confident that your month away from my wise council, with time spent sitting on your butts watching reruns of _A Christmas Story_ and _Elf_ and stuffing yourselves silly on Mommy's special dinner have turned you all into lazy, lumpy losers. Which is why, I'm announcing that this week's theme is tenacity. So I'm not forced to sit through your obscene definitions, allow me to enlighten you. Tenacity is a refusal to give up. It's stubbornness. It's determination to stay the course no matter what life throws at you. Which is why I give you, Sue's Kids obstacle course of doom!" she said, pointing to the various stations around the gym.

Blaine's eyes widened. He hadn't come prepared for this. He felt strongly about changing into his gym uniform, but decided Ms. Sylvester would probably kick him out, so he stayed where he stood, quietly trying to figure out what to do with his phone and his wallet, which he did not want to lose while running an obstacle course.

"Excuse me?" Rachel interjected. "I'm here to sing and dance, not for physical education."

"There's the door," Ms. Sylvester pointed. "Don't let it hit you in the butt on your way out. But keep in mind, if you choose to leave before completing my obstacle course, you will receive a zero on part one of the homework for this week."

"Oh, what the hell?" Artie muttered under his breath.

"This week, half of your success will be determined on how well you do on the obstacle course. The other half, on your song and performance."

"Wait for the catch," Mercedes whispered.

"You will be completing the obstacle course the same way you will be winning trophies for me. As a _team_. If you don't work together, you fail. If anyone gets injured, you fail. If every single one of you is not trying your absolute hardest, you fail. Understood?"

Mutely, they nodded. Blaine saw Brittany eying the obstacles already, and he hoped she wouldn't forget any of Ms. Sylvester's instructions.

"All right. Uniforms! I don't want you all distracted by what's not covered on your teammate" she barked, clicking her stopwatch. "I want all of you back here in three minutes. Go!"

Blaine was the first one in the locker room, the first one changed, and the first one back, even before Artie, who only changed his shirt for gym. Blaine stood, breathless, in front of Ms. Sylvester.

"How do you plan on helping your team, Blaine?" Ms. Sylvester asked, her bullhorn inches from his face.

He tried not to wince, feeling like a soldier in training for a serious battle. "I'll do whatever's necessary to help us all succeed," he promised succinctly.

"We'll see about that," Ms. Sylvester replied. She turned her attention back to the rest of the gym where Kurt and Sugar were just emerging from their respective locker rooms. "Sloppy tenacious babies!" Ms. Sylvester insisted. "You're going to have to do much better than that if you want to get on the solo list for Regionals."

"Now," she boomed, when they were all assembled before her in gray McKinley tee shirts and red sweatpants. "Every single one of you must complete every obstacle. There will be no points awarded if you send Artie through the army crawl and Sugar through the wheelbarrow race but don't complete them yourselves. There will be mental challenges as well as physical, so be prepared for anything. On your mark, get set, go!"

* * *

The obstacle course didn't look daunting, not for a former Cheerio, at least. Eight events? Santana could do this in her sleep. Or so she thought until they got to the first obstacle, labeled Truth Circle and heard Finn read out the directions:

"Biggest Fear, Not Yet Here. Form a circle and take turns addressing each other. Share your biggest fear, and what is holding you back from overcoming it. Make eye contact. Speak honestly. You have one minute. Begin."

Santana swallowed. She listened with half an ear while the rest of them spoke, and tried to come up with a fear that wasn't really a fear. A fear that wouldn't reveal too much about her. She could say water. She used to be afraid of the bathtub. But what about part two? How would she answer what was holding her back from overcoming it if she'd already overcome it? Coach Sue could easily spot a liar. She could hear Sam saying his biggest fear was his family losing everything. He hadn't overcome it because he wasn't over the first time it happened. Quinn saying her biggest fear was not getting herself together enough to be a part of Beth's life. She hadn't done anything about it because Quinn wasn't sure she, herself, was worth the effort.

Finally, it was Santana's turn. She took a deep breath and looked at Brittany, because she seemed like the safest bet. "My biggest fear is being alone," she admitted. "I'm still afraid because I haven't been proven wrong, and I haven't let anyone hang around me long enough to get close," she admitted.

Once everyone was finished, it was onto the second obstacle. This one was labeled Contact Improvisation. Berry read the instructions:

"Statues. Pick the person you spend the least time with. This person is your partner. When your fearless leader presses play, you have one minute to improvise movement to the music with your partner. Move their bodies in a respectful and realistic manner. If you are the statue, your job is to allow yourself to be moved, and also to maintain your position. Next round, you'll switch roles, and the third time, you'll go back and forth, seamlessly."

* * *

Blaine bit his lip and approached Sugar. She was so tiny. "Partners?" he asked.

"Sure, what's your name again?" she asked.

"My name is Blaine," he introduced.

When the simple instrumental ballad began playing, Blaine got to work, positioning Sugar, who held form exceptionally well. When it was Blaine's turn to be molded, though, it was a bit more difficult than he anticipated. She maneuvered him in ways that didn't feel natural. When his head was turned, he watched Brittany and Tina work together, and tried to ignore the feeling of Sugar's hands on him. It wasn't that he had a particular problem with Sugar; it was that Blaine wasn't used to touching people, or letting people in his physical space. He endured it, trying to admire whatever Sugar was accomplishing. When it came time for both of them to move each other, it was clumsy on his end and fluid on hers. For a girl who auditioned with clumsy dance moves at best, she was great at this, and Blaine admired that.

* * *

"Tina, read the next set of directions at Shoe Sculpture," Coach Sue snapped, scaring the life out of Santana.

She had just spent an agonizing several minutes trying to position and be positioned by Joe Hart, who was so timid it was ridiculous. He literally would not let her touch him anywhere that was not shoulders or above, or knees and below. And he practiced what he preached. She felt like a damn nun, and he was so tentative. And Santana was so jealous of all the shapes Quinn and Kurt were making with each other into. She snapped to attention when Tina read out:

"Remove your shoes and, using everyone's ideas, and shoes, create a sculpture of the bust of one Sue Sylvester."

Santana got to work, kicking off her shoes, while everyone else did the same. "What should we do for this?" she asked. Since everyone had changed into gym clothes they only had tennis shoes to use, but it was better than nothing. Fourteen pairs was definitely better than none. The shoe sculpture took surprisingly little time, once Puck had a vision of what should go where and whose feet were the smallest, versus the biggest and where their shoes would do the most good (Finn's were the biggest, no surprise there, while Sugar's were the smallest) they were off. She watched Anderson help Artie take his shoes off, and wanted to punch him, but held back. Artie could take his own damn shoes off. But she didn't have time for that.

Rory the damn leprechaun Flanagan was mumbling his way through the next clue about wheelbarrow races. Without any words at all, Artie and Brittany teamed up and were off toward the other end of the gym. Six other pairs followed suit - and if you don't think walking on your hands down the length of a high school gym while Quinn Fabray holds your legs is hard, then you've got another thing coming.

* * *

Blaine was sweating by the time he reached the end of the gym. Mercedes was a great partner, but this was exhausting work. He lit up when he saw the jump ropes, though. He was excellent at jump roping. He took control of this station right away, reading out the clue:

"Double-dutch jump rope in groups of four. Two rope-turners, two jumpers. Jumpers have to successfully complete twenty jumps in a row before their turn is over." He quickly joined a group with Brittany, Mike and Quinn, to complete their turn. He offered to jump first with Brittany, and then they turned the ropes for Mike and Quinn. They cheered on Tina, Sugar, Rachel and Finn, and Joe, Rory, Mercedes and Santana. Puck struggled though he was the only one jumping, so Brittany went over to help. When she saw Artie trying to swing his own rope, lay it on the ground and roll over it, she abandoned Puck and ran to Artie instead.

At the obstacle labeled Brain Power, Mike read the clue.

"Color Me Surprised: Each of you must successfully read the names of the 28 colors listed on the chart. First by what the words spell, and finally, by what color the font appears. Keep a steady rhythm. If you mess up, you must begin again."

Blaine stared hard at the chart labeled with basic colors. But it was anything but basic. The word 'blue' was displayed in yellow font, 'red' in black, and so on. He practiced in his head, while he watched Brittany effortlessly read off the words correctly, both rounds clapping out her own steady rhythm, and then encouraging the rest of them to go. It was, without a doubt, the biggest challenge so far. Puck almost quit. Sam was at a distinct disadvantage, apparently having dyslexia, and struggling to read basic words anyway.

All of a sudden, Brittany, Quinn and Santana were in front of them. Brittany had the center spot and without so much as a glance at each other, Brittany began reading off the words. 'Everybody say 'blue'!'"

"Blue…" they all echoed, their sound bolstered by Santana and Quinn who were used to cheering and getting crowds involved. Soon, the Cheerios had led them through naming all 56 colors correctly by calling them out after Brittany read them off. Blaine searched for Ms. Sylvester and saw her standing to the side, a small smile on her face.

* * *

Let it be said: Brittany Pierce was a damn genius. If not for her, they would have been stuck at that damn brain power station all afternoon. But when Britt pulled Quinn and Santana aside and suggested doing it like a cheer, it made so much sense. They were done in no time, and it was on to the next place. Santana was exhausted. But there were still two to go. Next was the army crawl, where they had to crawl the entire length of the gym beneath hopelessly low ropes that simulated barbed wire. If any part of their body touched, it was back to the starting line. Puck kicked ass on this, and positioned himself at the end, encouraging people in their technique and helping them finish. Santana was pretty sure if he tried any of that crap on her she would deck him. Luckily, he left her alone. Artie was a beast at this particular challenge, and Kurt was also unexpectedly skilled. Anderson and Berry both struggled, and Santana found herself calling out her own version of encouragement:

"Come on, Berry! Move like your life depends on it! I bet if there was some kind of animal threatening your talent, you'd get the lead out and get to the other end of this gym! Keep your head down, Anderson! If this really was barbed wire, you'd be ruined right now. Head down and move forward!"

Finally, they moved to the last station, which was a stack of boxes. Santana decided to read the clue for this one:

"Stand Together or Not at All: Organize the boxes so that all are touching and all of you are standing. It will be tight, so get ready to get close," Santana bristled. "Disgusting. All right. All the boxes have to touch. Let's do this. Who's good at optimizing spaces? Puck, get over here. You built the shoes."

It was excruciating, standing on top of too few boxes, in everyone's space, and smelling their sweat. But they did it. Joe balanced on one foot, Brittany held Artie, and Santana grudgingly held onto Finn for balance.

"Newsflash!" Coach Sue barked. "If this were timed, you all would have failed miserably. The obstacles aren't over yet. Straight line. Here. Now."

They fell into line, exhausted but determined.

"Mike I want you to tell me what Quinn Fabray's biggest fear is."

"She's afraid she won't get herself together soon enough to be a part of her daughter's life," he responded without hesitating.

"Is that correct?" Coach Sue asked Quinn, who nodded, looking flushed.

"What do you have to say about that, Mike?" Coach quizzed. It wasn't until then that Santana noticed the pen and the clipboard in her hand. She was taking notes. Shit. Santana was about to get her ass handed to her.

Mike didn't flinch, though. He looked Quinn in the eye and said, "I think you can absolutely do it. I have confidence in you."

And down the line she went, asking them to recount someone else's biggest fear and what they thought about it. By some miracle, Santana got Sam, who she'd listened to, and correctly identified his fear of his family losing everything. Bravely, she looked him in the eye and told him that she thought his fear was legitimate.

In a totally awkward moment, Anderson had to recount Santana's own fear and tell her what he thought about it.

"Your biggest fear is being alone," he remembered, and, he hesitated, his gaze flickering to Sam and back to her. "I think your fear is legitimate," he said echoing her words.

"All right," Coach Sue said, without the aid of her bullhorn. "Before we get to the business of song selection, I want to know something," she said, motioning for them to sit down in a circle on the floor. "I want to know why you think I did this."

"To break us down," Kurt suggested, with attitude that Santana admired.

"Because you like to see people cry," Brittany added.

"Both true, but not quite what I'm looking for," Coach sighed, leaning back on her hands.

"She did this to bring us together," Berry supplied. "It's a classic technique: forced bonding through stressful situations."

"Wanky," Santana couldn't resist, smirking.

"Correct," Coach Sue nodded. "I want you to remember that with me you are one team, not fourteen individuals. You can overcome things together that you might never manage by yourselves. Lean on each other. Rely on each other. I'll be your commander, I won't be your friend. But you have a room full of those if you're willing to reach for them. All right, enough heartfelt crap. List of songs. Come and pick yours when your name is called. First come, first served. And for the love of all that is good, take a shower. The smell of your body odor is affecting my concentration."

Santana stood when she heard her name, disappointed beyond belief that she was last. There was only one song left by that point, but Santana was grateful that it didn't totally suck.

* * *

By the time Thursday evening came, Blaine was only in moderate pain every time he moved. He figured everyone else must be in similar states, except, perhaps, Mike and Brittany, who were more used to that level of physical strain. Tina had floor burn from the army crawl, and Blaine had it on good authority that Rachel had excused herself a time or two to vomit out of sheer exhaustion had welts from a malfunction during her turn at double-dutch that looked painful. All of them looked worse for wear. He wondered how tonight would go.

"All right. It's my favorite night of the week," Ms. Sylvester began mildly. "It's the night I get to see who succeeds at being tenacious and who fails miserably. So, who is going to rise above the agony in their bodies and volunteer to go first?" she challenged, and Blaine's hand shot up. "Well, well, well, Blaine. Interesting. Come on up."

Blaine swallowed, wondering what in the world he'd just done. He hadn't even practiced for this week, but he knew the song - _The World Will Know_ from the musical, The Newsies, by heart. He prayed that would be enough.

"Okay guys. I'm gonna need your help with this," Blaine encouraged as Brad played the opening notes of his song. It was energetic, and he had the stamina, but the rest of Sue's Kids either didn't know the song, or didn't want to give Blaine a leg up. They stared at him blankly when it came time for the chorused "no!" or "yeah!" And it left Blaine feeling pretty discouraged.

He sat through the rest, attempting attentiveness, but it was difficult on the heels of Ms. Sylvester's physical training on Tuesday and running choreography today. A few performances stuck out. Joe's because he had the other Newsies song. Puck's, Rachel's Quinn's, Santana's and Artie's on vocals. And Sugar's based on the strange song choice.

"Rachel Berry, I hereby declare you the winner of tenacity week. Your performance was the only one full of genuine passion and energy. You may not be good at everything you try, but you never give up, and that, by definition, is this week's theme. Come on up and add your name to my list of champions. All of you. Comment cards. Piano. Get them and get out of my classroom."

Blaine didn't have to be told twice. He retrieved his card, and as was his habit, he read it in the car before pulling out of the parking lot.

_Blaine, your enthusiasm is positive, but you need to back it up. You told me you would do anything to help your Sue's Kids succeed and I didn't see as much of that as I would have liked. Actively help your team search for solutions. Motivate them. I know you have it in you. Performance-wise, you absolutely cannot rely solely on the audience for feedback. You were the prime example of what can happen. You need to be confident that no matter what, your performance is going to be incredible. Take note of Rachel and the way she doesn't let anything distract her from giving her all. There's always a chance to do better. Take it._

* * *

Santana groaned and read her comment card at home, while waiting for her laptop to boot up.

_Santana, I believe I made myself perfectly clear several weeks ago, when you slapped one Finn Hudson. I do not condone violence and loss of control unless it is by me, and me alone. McKinley and Principal Figgins may not have anything to say about your fight in the hall last week, but you had better believe, I do. You have two strikes against you. In the real world, there is no such grace. If you are violent in the workplace, you are fired, end of story. One more strike, and you're out of this club. In addition, I have a special addendum to the homework assignment for you. Before next week, I want you to seek out three people you trust when you feel that rage inside you begin to build. Instead of letting it take over, find one of those people and talk to them. I want you to practice reaching out to others, because people can't read your mind. I want an account of this. And remember, I have eyes everywhere._

* * *

Santana groaned and punched the keyboard, quickly signing into Hope & Healing account, surprised to see a message from CB, dated just a few minutes earlier.

_HSM, I'm happy if I can help at all. Don't worry about me. You can always say what's on your mind. I'm extremely frustrated right now, and every time I come home from school it's like I can feel my insides being pulled down this invisible drain. I'm so tired of feeling like this. I'm sad all the time, but I spend all day, every day pretending that I'm not. No one notices. No one really cares. Do you know how alone that makes me feel? And when I do try, it's like, it doesn't even matter. There is no payoff whatsoever. It's so hard. I apologize for the tone of this message, but I just can't fake it anymore today. CB._

Sent on 1/19/12, 9:19 p.m.

* * *

_CB- I, as your unofficial shrink, care a whole damn lot. So, don't go apologizing for being honest with me. You know I love it. Ironically, I'm feeling pretty shitty, too. Mixed messages all over the place and I hate those. No matter how hard I try at being a better person, it never seems to take. I try to follow my mom's example, but it's too hard. And just like you're too sad? I'm too pissed. And I'm being punished in this totally lame way by having to seek out people to help me whenever I get pissed off. I already know it can never work. Because I'm so angry so much of the time. I'd need someone there, twenty four hours a day or some crap. At least I have you. And you have me. If we hang onto each other, I think we can make it through this. Actually, it feels like the only way we'll make it through this. Try remembering the good in your brother and I'll try to be a better human being. Stay open and I'll try to do that, too. Keep your head up. I'm always here for you. HSM._

Sent on 1/19/12, 9:34 p.m.

**Track Listing for Tenacity Week:**

**Artie Abrams - The Fighter - Gym Class Heroes**

**Blaine Anderson - The World Will Know - Newsies soundtrack**

**Rachel Berry - Anyway - Martina McBride**

**Mike Chang - If You're Going Through Hell - Rodney Atkins**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - World - Five for Fighting**

**Sam Evans - Standing Outside the Fire - Garth Brooks**

**Quinn Fabray - Dreams - Van Halen**

**Rory Flanagan - That's Life - Frank Sinatra**

**Joe Hart - Seize the Day - Newsies soundtrack**

**Finn Hudson - We're Not Gonna Take It - Twisted Sister**

**Kurt Hummel - 100 Years - Five for Fighting**

**Mercedes Jones - We Shall Overcome - a Civil Rights anthem**

**Santana Lopez - Have a Nice Day - Bon Jovi**

**Sugar Motta - Hangin' Tough - New Kids on the Block**

**Brittany Pierce - High Hopes - Frank Sinatra **

**Noah Puckerman - Move Along - The All-American Rejects**


	11. Innovation

Santana had been trying to take her own advice and stay open. Tried to be a better person, but so far, she was failing. She hadn't heard back from CB in a while and it didn't really bother her, except that she still had Coach Sue's lame assignment to do. The only good thing about it turned out to be that Sue's Kids didn't meet for two weeks, so she had twice the time to think about who would be safe enough to go to with her anger.

CB was her first and most obvious choice, but Santana wasn't sure if people online counted. They should. And besides, Coach hadn't made any specifications about who she could talk to, just that Santana seek out three people and talk to them instead of acting on her rage. She wished she could just talk to him three times, but she knew without checking that that kind of thing wouldn't fly with Coach Sue. Santana would have to find some actual people to talk to - maybe even face to face - and that was going to suck.

* * *

Blaine was busy with homework when his computer sounded with some kind of message. He clicked around his many open tabs until he found Hope & Healing. HSM's last message that he had not yet responded to. There was a new notification. He clicked on it, taking a break from SAT prep to click on it.

_CB- Can I talk to you if I'm pissed off?_

Sent on 1/22/12, 10:28 p.m.

Guilt ate at Blaine for failing to respond to HSM days ago. What if the situation were reversed and he needed her and she wasn't responding? She had done nothing but be there for him, but, for some reason, Blaine couldn't bring himself to be as kind to her as she deserved. Instead he was short and succinct.

_HSM, Yes, of course. _Are _you_?

Sent on 1/22/12, 10:29 p.m.

Her response came immediately:

_Not yet. Thought it'd be a good idea to have you on standby, though, in case._

Sent on 1/22/12, 10:29 p.m.

He minimized the tab and muted the sound and got back to work, studying even though he was already battling a headache. He absolutely had to get as high a score as possible to maximize his chances with the best colleges. If only he didn't feel so lousy. If only Coop were still here, and actually in college, so Blaine could ask questions that he desperately wanted answers to. What should he major in? How would he adjust to living on his own - because college obviously wasn't going to be like Dalton. And the question that still kept him up all night, every night.

Why?

He glanced at the date on HSM's message again, and realized, belatedly, that today marked eight months without Coop.

* * *

_CB- My mom's not here so this goes to you. You said I could be pissed off with you, and since I'm not pissed off with _you_, I thought it might still be okay to send this to you. I'm so mad at my mom but she's not even here to blame. I guess I just need someone to send this to. Please don't share this with anyone. In fact, if you want to delete it and never talk about it again, that'd be great. So, here goes…_

_Mom._

_I'm madder at you than I want to admit. Every single day I've lived without you, it's been inside me. Only you're not here to be pissed at. I want to yell and scream and blame and wreck EVERY SINGLE THING but it won't do any good. Because in the end, you will still be gone. I feel three years old again. Four years old. Five. Lost and angry and confused and wanting my mom. Not understanding why she had to go or what I did to make it happen. I know you say it's not my fault, but what am I supposed to think, Mom? You promised me from day one that you would never ever leave me. Even when I was a little hell-raiser and broke things, or screamed, or fought you on everything. Somehow you got underneath my defenses. Somehow, you convinced me that what you said was true. Only guess what? It wasn't. It was a load of crap because I'm alone again. For the millionth time. People giving their word doesn't mean shit, you know? It doesn't mean shit. Even the most well-meaning people like you and dad. You should never promise a kid like me that you won't leave because now you're gone. And what the hell am I supposed to do without you? I'm totally freaked out 100% of the time but that's not what anyone sees. They see me being an asshole. Acting out. Being disrespectful. But you know why I do that? You know. I don't have to tell you. It's because I've been through hell - what most people couldn't imagine going through at any age and I went through it when I was so small, and for so long, there was nobody to tell me, "Hey, what you're believing about yourself is wrong." So I kept believing it. You used to tell me that there were more good people than bad in the world, but I can't agree with that. How can I when my own biological mother didn't stay around for me? When my biological father wanted nothing at all to do with me? When my grandmother wanted to sell me for $20 to people I didn't even know. So she'd get money. So I'd get used. How am I supposed to believe that there are good people in the world when they don't do anything to protect me? When they don't stay around like they promised. Because, guess what, Mom? Now? You're just another name added to the list of people who didn't give a damn about me. Why did you love me in the first place? Really. Why did you love me if you were just going to get sick and leave just like every other miserable human being in my life? It sucks to be unwanted - and to be wanted - but for all the wrong reasons. It sucks to know that my whole entire life is worth $20. I mean, what is that? One DVD. You can't buy decent jeans or shoes for $20. You can't even fill your car up for that. So, see, no matter how many times you told me what I'm worthy of love and respect, in the end? I know exactly how much I am worth, because I was there. Not just the last time, but all the times before in those two years. I remember seeing the pile of fives once and feeling proud. I was sure it was because five was my favorite number. That's before I knew what they wanted in exchange for it. It sucks to remember all the things I've tried my whole life to forget. The hands. The pain. The fear. But most of all that I let myself believe you. I let myself believe you would never leave and you did. You left me here alone when you promised me you wouldn't. What am I supposed to do without you, Mom? You're my best friend. My compass. Without you, I don't know where to go or what to do or how to deal with any of this crap in my life. There's so much I wish I would've told you. But I didn't know…and it happened so fast…and Jesus, why couldn't you have warned me? It sucks so bad to live every day hating myself, and thinking, "I've got to be pretty damn unlovable if not one person in my life can stick around for me." I know Dad's still here, but I need him for things that I can't even talk to him about so what good is that? It's only a matter of time before he ditches me, too. I'm so angry, Mom. And I am so hurt. And I don't know how to do this anymore. I miss you. I need you. Not just words on a page or a picture or your face on a screen, but YOU. And I know I can never have that. I can never see you or be with you. Those years with you were all I got, and, Jesus, if I had known? I would have done so much differently. Or maybe I would have lived exactly the same. Because no matter what, maybe, it was bound to hurt just this much, and there's just no way around it. At least the last thing I said to you was that I loved you. Even though hating you would make this part so much easier. I do love you. So much that it weighs me down and makes me feel empty all at once. It hurts way deep inside where I can't name, with all the other hurt that I keep buried._

_Love_

Santana stopped abruptly. She had been so caught up, typing through tears that she nearly signed off using her real name. Thank God she caught herself in time. She didn't need CB knowing personal shit about her, especially not when she was already feeling so raw. Finally, she settled on, _Love, Me_ which was the way Santana ended the journal entries with her mom. No name there either.

It was just as well.

She hit send, and didn't think about it again. Until Monday, because she woke up sweating and shaking, cowering away from her dad who was kind of hovering in the doorway.

Her throat was sore.

There were tears on her face.

She had been dreaming.

That week was a special form of hell. No Sue's Kids equaled no song to pour herself into. No outlet for any of the feelings that her damn Mom letter had stirred up. Nothing from CB. Though honestly, Santana didn't know what would be worse. Hearing CB's thoughts about her letter or never hearing anything again?

* * *

Blaine was just finishing up prep for the huge geography presentation he had with Quinn Fabray and Noah Puckerman. He had to remember to give the countries and capitals of South America a cursory glance, as well, because that quiz was coming up. Ms. Doosenberry was tough but fair, and he was determined to bring home an A in her class, despite the common knowledge among students that her class felt more like college level than high school. Blaine was only a junior, but he'd already studied US Government, US History and Modern Global Studies. He wanted a social studies credit. Geography seemed like the way to go.

His phone buzzed on his hip and he picked it up, grateful for the quiet that after school hours afforded. No jostling through students. At 6 p.m. it was eerily silent, and he passed the empty glee class, glancing in wistfully before he headed in the direction of the stairs. A Tuesday without glee practice always felt a little bit wrong. As he walked toward the staircase that led to the parking student parking lot, Blaine pulled up the message on his phone and concentrated on breathing and walking while he read HSM's words. They took his breath.

Words about just how angry she was, and just how hurt. ("_My mom's not here so this goes to you_.") It left Blaine shocked and hurt on her behalf. And it left him sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt that HSM was real. He hated to admit it, but he had doubts. At times, she seemed a little too amazing to be real. What kind of person would be _that _supportive? _That _honest? Her, as it turned out. Someone who knew real pain. Real rejection. Real abandonment. Someone who knew how it felt to be loved because of, and in spite of all of those things, and then to be hurt again, and still keep on loving him and being there for him, even though she had every right to throw in the towel and give up.

Blaine took a deep breath, composing himself, and barely had time to steady himself emotionally before he felt himself being brutally shoved from behind. He had no time to brace himself, but he took a breath deep enough to catch the scent of Green Irish Tweed. He had smelled the same complex, fresh, slightly earthy cologne mixed with booze the night he and Kurt picked up Santana Lopez from Scandals months ago. So, though, Blaine didn't get a good look at him, he knew without knowing, and as he fell, that Sebastian was behind this. He was getting revenge for the punch Blaine had landed, perhaps, or maybe, something else entirely.

He had no way of knowing. But the fall took forever and was agonizing. Concrete steps. Half a dozen at least. His head struck a couple of times and his wrist twisted painfully under his body. But when everything stopped moving, Blaine felt a rush of color in his cheeks. He glanced around, hoping no one had seen. Thankfully he was alone. His head ached and his wrist was tender, but Blaine composed himself and walked calmly to his car.

It was on the drive home that he started to think something could be wrong. He couldn't remember where he was going. He couldn't remember why his head hurt or even where he was coming from. He drove a bit further, hoping to see something that would give him a clue about where he was, but saw nothing familiar. There as a sharp pain in his wrist and his pants had dirt on the knees. Maybe he'd fallen? When a car honked Blaine jumped and pulled over.

Terrified, he groped for his phone and dialed his parents but couldn't reach either of them. He couldn't remember if his father was off today or not. Or which of his mom's college classes she was taking today. He didn't want to bother them by calling their cell phones, so he tried Kurt.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. It never went to voice mail and Kurt never picked up. Blaine hoped, vaguely, that Kurt had not been hurt, too. Intense pain in his head made it hard to think, but Blaine tried. The letters on the screen were hard to make sense of, but he knew Kurt's number, and Kurt's father's number were close to one another. After too much time scrutinizing the screen, Blaine made out _Burt Hummel_ above a string of numbers and highlighted that. He waited, hoping for him to pick up.

"Yeah?" a voice answered harshly.

"Mr. Hummel?" Blaine asked.

"Is this Blaine? Yeah, this is Mr. Hummel. What's up, kid?"

"I'm not sure…" Blaine winced, willing his voice not to betray his fear. "I think I need help."

There was silence. Then Mr. Hummel's voice, more intense than before. "Where are you?"

Blaine looked around helplessly. "I don't know. I'm sorry, sir."

"Listen to me. Look around you. Can you see any landmarks? Any street names or stores? Anything like that that could give me a clue about where to find you?"

"I think I see Breadstix," Blaine admitted softly.

"Where, exactly?"

"Across from me. I parked. Someone honked and I pulled over. Mr. Hummel, I apologize but I really don't feel well right now."

"All right. Listen. Stay right there and wait for me. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. I'm coming to you."

The wait was excruciating. The pain in Blaine's head intensified and he felt nauseous. When he heard Mr. Hummel's voice, Blaine fumbled to unlock the door and scoot over to the passenger seat.

"All right, we're gonna get you taken care of," Mr. Hummel promised. "Everything's gonna be okay," he said, and they took off for Lima Memorial.

* * *

When Puck caught up to Santana on Wednesday, and rested his forearm casually on her shoulder, she bolted for the bathroom. She didn't even register what he said about the awesome mnemonic device Quinn came up with so he could memorize all the countries in South America. Santana fell in front of the toilet and retched, praying Puck didn't follow her in after checking his idiotic peephole.

"Santana?" a voice that wasn't Puck's called out.

"Get out," Santana managed, her voice raw. Her nose ran and her eyes were tearing and this was embarrassing.

"Santana."

"I don't _need _you, Quinn. Get the hell out," Santana tried again, but there was no force behind her words. Through watering eyes, Santana saw Quinn's Steve Madden Aztec print wedges, despite it being still being January, she sighed. She flushed. Then she reached out and unlocked the stall without a word.

Quinn walked in and shut them in the tiny space. Somewhere, Santana was vaguely grateful for the privacy, knowing that Quinn was claustrophobic and doing her a favor.

She stood there, quietly, until Santana spat the only words she could:

"Fucking _Puck_."

Quinn waited.

Santana was aware they hadn't really talked much at all since New York when Quinn was all crazy about Finn breaking up with her and intent on destroying everyone and everything. Santana had been the one to talk her out of it then. But now Santana was living on the other side of her own warning. She was the one not caring. Because caring made it hurt too damn much. She had yet to hear one word from CB and it had been three days. Just like she thought. Open up to someone and then they don't want to talk to you anymore.

Quinn crouched down a little so they were at eye level but still didn't say anything. She knew better. She knew anything she tried to say would be blown off. Santana didn't need advice. She just needed someone to be there. And Quinn wasn't who she expected, with her lame ass comments about losing things and motherhood, but Quinn was who was here. Santana almost wished she could get pissed again. That she could be mad. It was easier to be mad than completely devastated. But she just couldn't find that emotion.

In the end, she just sat quietly with Quinn, hoping that this counted for something, because after CB, Santana wasn't about to share anything with anyone again.

* * *

Though thinking about anything through the persistent headache he had was difficult, Blaine knew instantly when he woke up a week later what day it was and that he would have to go back to school. He couldn't miss Sue's Kids.

But his parents wouldn't allow it. After Mr. Hummel had driven him to the hospital, they had been notified. They arrived in time to hear Blaine being diagnosed with a severely sprained right wrist and a concussion. He had obeyed the doctors orders because his parents made him. Rested without television, without the computer, which was very hard, considering he wanted more than anything to talk to HSM then. Slowly - very slowly - things were coming back. But the first time he pulled up HSM's most recent message, he found himself overwhelmed at the amount of text. Needing to read and reread it, and then getting tired and having to take a nap. He'd thought about sending her a short response, but the letters on the keyboard and the act of typing were more daunting than he anticipated. He couldn't ask anyone to pass on his message for him because no one knew HSM. Who knew how difficult it would be to type the words: _I'm here_ and click send?

Now that a week had passed he needed to get back to McKinley. He couldn't afford to miss anymore school. Seven days was the maximum per quarter that students were allowed to miss without having to appeal before some school officials and explain their absence. If he missed anymore without explanation, he would receive Fs in everything. All that SAT prep, all the hard work up to this point, would be for nothing. That wasn't even including glee. It wasn't officially a class but Blaine treated it like one. And Ms. Sylvester was strict about attendance and not letting the team down.

Because he had no other option, Blaine put in a phone call to Ms. Sylvester's office and waited, wincing as the dial tone made his head ache.

"Sue Sylvester."

"Ms. Sylvester, I was wondering if I could have the glee club assignment in advance this week."

"Who in the world am I speaking to?" she wondered, her tone both amused and annoyed.

"I apologize. This is Blaine Anderson."

"Well, _Blaine Anderson_, I can't give you that kind of advantage. If I did that for you, I'd have to do it for everybody. You'll get the assignment when everyone else does."

"My parents won't allow me to come. I'm recovering from a concussion."

"Why didn't you start with that? I was about to hang up on you. Now, if you have a medical reason for not showing up to practice, that's perfectly acceptable. Competing in pain is one thing, but I won't have my Sue's Kids competing hurt. So, stay home, rest, and get back in shape because I need my dialect coach back in fine form. Regionals is less than a month from now."

"Yes, ma'am, I understand. I'd still like the assignment. Even if I can't show up to practice, I'd be willing to call my performance in."

"Head injuries make you very demanding. I like it," Ms. Sylvester sounded pleased. "Fine. I'm sharing this with you in confidence and I don't want any of the other Sue's Kids knowing until after 5 p.m. when I've had the chance to terrify them myself. Our theme this week is Innovation, and you will be selecting songs performed by the King of Pop, Michael."

"…as in _Jackson_?" Blaine asked, incredulous.

"He needs no last name, but you bet your overly-gelled hair it's Jackson. Now, I'm sharing with you top-secret intelligence which is the song list for this week. Pick one, and learn it if you're feeling up to it. Off the record, I'd encourage you to pick a song you're already familiar with. No need to stress an already taxed system."

With that, Ms. Sylvester read the list, and Blaine knew instantly which song he wanted. When he told her, she seemed impressed.

"If you're feeling up to it, call in at 7:15 on Thursday night. If not, know that it won't count against you."

"Ms. Sylvester, with all due respect, don't lower your expectations for me."

"Blaine, likewise, don't push yourself to the point of breaking. I know perfectly well what you're capable of. When you're well, show me."

* * *

Santana wondered if it still counted as seeking someone out if she got a pass to Miss Pillsbury's office Wednesday. She'd gotten through the first glee practice in two weeks and swore up and down to Coach Sue that she was working on her assignment. To prove it, she handed over two pieces with a short, typed explanation on each. One explained her attempt to talk to "a friend" about her anger, and how much it sucked when he didn't respond. The other was shorter, and explained how, instead of pushing Quinn away last week, Santana let Quinn stay. Santana didn't say it was pretty much because Quinn refused to move, but Santana hadn't beaten up Quinn like last year, had she? She didn't let her anger get the best of her and she didn't go all Lima Heights on Puck. That was progress, right?

"_Indeed_," Coach Sue had said cryptically when Santana asked yesterday. "_I want your last one in my hand first thing Thursday_."

So, instead of dedicating all of her time learning the MJ song she had literally never heard of before (how was she supposed to make it something new if she had never heard it?) she was sitting in the school counselor's office. She could have blown it off, but the bottom line was, Santana couldn't lose glee. As a freshman, she could have used the refuge from the reality of her mom's diagnosis. Sophomore year, she'd joined as a spy, but she really had liked singing. It really had been the best part of her day. And last year. Without the club last year, Santana didn't know where she would have ended up without them. This year was a thousand times worse, and if she lost this, she really _would _be lost. Coach Sue's words hit home. And while Santana hated everything and everybody right now, having someone who gave two shits about her enough to care that she wasn't self-destructing and lashing out? Well, that meant something.

Miss Pillsbury's office would be okay, if not for the huge wall of glass at her back that let anyone outside walking by know just who was inside needing extra help to deal with all the crap in their lives. If Santana was going to talk, she was going to do it her way. So she walked in and sank down behind the desk, completely blocking the drawers and all of their shit so that Miss Pillsbury looked nervous as hell.

Still, was patient and allowed Santana to sit on the floor, even though Santana knew it was a thing you weren't supposed to do in offices.

"Better?" Miss Pillsbury asked, though she still seemed anxious.

"Yeah. Your back wall sucks," Santana said, not mincing words.

"I'm not a fan of it myself. I've brought it up to Principal Figgins a time or two, and since then I've just had to be patient. I don't know if or when I'll be relocated."

"Well, then you can count on less students feeling like it's all right to come in and spill their guts to you without being spied on."

"Understandable," Miss Pillsbury said, keeping her eyes on some papers on her desk. "Tough week?"

"You could say that."

"What would _you _say?" Miss Pillsbury pressed gently.

Santana sighed. "Tough year? Tough _life's _more like it." She shook her head a little, missing her long hair and feeling a pang for being so petty when her mom had lot all of her hair, and never complained once.

"If you want to talk about anything, I'm here to listen."

"And after?"

"I beg your pardon?" Miss Pillsbury asked, surprised.

"What about after? Will you care to see me again if I say whatever might be going on? Or is saying it out loud supposed to fix everything?" Santana couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. It's not fair what CB did to her, making her feel like she could trust him with her deepest stuff and then not responding at all once she said it.

"Especially then," Miss Pillsbury promised. "Saying words aloud is a great start, but sometimes we need feedback to really understand it all. Sometimes, we need conversation to figure out what's really going on with us. I'd like to meet with you at least weekly if that's something you're comfortable with."

"Can I sit _here_?" Santana asked softly.

"You can sit wherever you're comfortable."

"Okay. I'll come, then."

"What would you like to talk about right now?"

"Coach Sue says I have to talk to three people by Thursday when I start to get pissed off and if I don't I'll get kicked out of glee club."

"Why do you think she assigned you that particular task?" Miss Pillsbury asked.

"Because I've been out of control," Santana admitted quietly. "I slapped Finn and I beat up this sophomore guy who threatened me."

"Okay. Stop for one second. Did you feel threatened by Finn, as well?"

"Why should that matter?" Santana snapped.

"It's just a question. To answer it or not is completely up to you." Miss Pillsbury was totally calm, organizing her pamphlets now. Her back was to Santana. Maybe that's why it was so much easier to speak.

"Yeah…" Santana admitted.

"Do you think that reacting with violence when you feel threatened is typical for you? Or is this something new?"

"It's not new," Santana insisted. "I know where it comes from. I thought I was over it, but obviously I'm not."

"And it's okay to admit that. I think that you know alternate ways of coping, too, because you're very smart. I'm going to ask you something and I want you to think about it before you answer…if you _want _to answer…all right?" Miss Pillsbury asked, addressing her papers again.

"Yeah," Santana said to the floor.

"What's the anger covering up?" Miss Pillsbury asked. "When Finn and the sophomore boy threatened you - _before _you reacted - how did you feel?"

"Fear," Santana muttered into her lap. Somehow her knees were raised and her arms were wrapped around them.

"So, you felt afraid," Miss Pillsbury paused, "which is a totally natural and healthy response to a threat. What were you most afraid of?"

"That they'd hurt me even more because they knew where I was weakest,' Santana whispered.

"You felt vulnerable," Miss Pillsbury surmised and Santana nodded. "I completely understand that and I want to help. I'm going to give you some tools. First, I want you to think about three adults you can trust here at school. Do you have them?"

"Only you and Coach Sue," Santana admitted.

"Okay, well that's a fantastic start. What about friends? Are there any friends you'd trust that you could seek out in times like these?"

Santana bristled, thinking of CB. "Maybe Quinn or Brittany…" she offered.

"Are you comfortable enough with them that you would seek them out, or would they have to come to you?"

"And say what? That I'm losing my shit?" Santana asked in a harsh whisper.

"How about you say something like '_I need a minute_.' That way, Quinn, Brittany, Sue or I will know you need one of _us_. So, you say that, and remove yourself from the situation. Tell Quinn or Brittany, or tell Sue. Or come and see me, and tell me. Then, we can do whatever you need us to do so that you feel safe again."

"Well, nothing's worked so far," Santana managed in a pessimistic whisper.

"Have you opened up to anyone? Told them about Finn or the sophomore?"

"Not really… I mean, I think Coach Sue knows, but from other people. Not from me."

"Okay, well that's something to consider, then. I can also check into having more staff presence in the hall during passing times and inquire about them intervening more directly in situations. Students shouldn't feel like they're on their own dealing with harassing or threatening behaviors. Try not to isolate yourself, too. You won't feel so angry if you know you have people on your side. All right?"

Santana stood. "Yeah, okay."

"So, be sure to tell Brittany, Sue and Quinn about what you're going to say when you need them." Miss Pillsbury paused and meticulously wrote a note on a piece of stationary and folded it neatly. "That's your account of this time for Sue, and I signed off so she knows it's legitimate."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. See you next Wednesday."

* * *

By Thursday, Blaine had been allowed to come back to school and had special permission to wear sunglasses to minimize his exposure to light. Since he still had no idea what happened to cause his injuries in the first place, he remained watchful and a little jumpy. It still got to him that he wouldn't be able to come back for 7 p.m. glee rehearsal. But his parents had stood firm. No extra-curricular activities. He was having a hard enough time just getting his homework done each night.

He felt awful but he still had not written back to HSM. He couldn't describe how difficult it was. Not only to be overwhelmed by text that he had once, presumably, been able to make sense of, but because she deserved a response from him, regardless of what her message had to say.

He'd downloaded a fresh version of his Michael song and had rehearsed it at night while lying in bed, unable to sleep and waiting for the Tylenol to kick in. It wasn't going to be his best performance, but Blaine was determined to give it. To show Ms. Sylvester that he was a team player, capable of being there in as full a capacity as possible.

At 7:15, as promised, he dialed Ms. Sylvester's cell. It felt more than a little strange, but she had given the number for this reason and if he was going to perform, this was the way he had to do it. She put him on speaker and he did his best to sing the song, though by now, he'd completely forgotten the theme, save 'Michael' and was floundering at even maintaining correct breath-control.

Then, Ms. Sylvester surprised him and left the phone on speaker so he could hear the rest of the performances. It gave him a unique perspective not being able to see his classmates, but hearing them nonetheless. He fully expected the amazing performances from Artie (who absolutely loved Michael Jackson) and Rachel (who excelled in everything, but there were surprises, too.

One, by the name of Tina Cohen-Chang, who performed her selection with an intensity and passion that brought tears to Blaine's eyes. Her take was so different from the original where the vocals were like quiet pleading. Tina let everything build. From that quiet desperation to something much deeper. It was no surprise to him when she was announced the winner.

* * *

Santana's comment card sat on the piano with the rest and she grabbed it, rushing out of the room.

"Hey, I got your text about the secret code words," Brittany whispered. "I'll totally be there if you need me," she promised, continuing down the hall. She was shocked, too, when Quinn came out and squeezed her shoulder on the way by. Was that really all it took?

Santana retreated to her car to read the comment card. Her performance had been the least innovative thing she had ever done, but Coach Sue's comments didn't reflect that:

_Santana, I'm impressed at the steps you've taken to evolve into a calmer human being. Specifically, your note from the Bird Lady was quite informative. I'm on board with your suggestion. Just say the words and I am there. Know that I will be an extra set of eyes in the halls of McKinley and that you can count on me to intervene if and when I see any bullying or harassment. No one lays a hand on my Sue's Kids. You also have my permission to excuse yourself if need be, and I have given Quinn Fabray and Brittany Pierce similar excuse notes if you need their support. You've applied innovation in the most unexpected, but pleasing, of ways. Keep up the good work._

* * *

Just after 10 p.m. Blaine heard a knock on his bedroom door and braced himself. He was still a little dizzy if he got up to fast but he made his way to remove the chair from under the handle. Eased the door open and waited, raising his eyebrows at his dad.

"Someone just knocked on the door and left this behind. Looks like you did a nice job with your song," he said gruffly before turning and walking away.

Squinting, Blaine couldn't quite believe that Ms. Sylvester had personally delivered a comment card to his house. He sat down and did his best to concentrate on her chaotic writing. Eventually, he read:

_Blaine, Your determination not to let your injury stop you from performing was laudable, but I meant what I said. I am not about limiting any of my Sue's Kids and I have the highest of expectations for each and every one of them. You, included. Do I need you in my Sue's Kids? Absolutely. You are an integral part of our team. But I need you healthy. Yes, I push you. But I know when to stop pushing. Do you? In the interest of switching things up, I'm going to leave you with something positive to mull over while you recover. Your connection to the content in the song this week was the best it's ever been. Keep it up._

**Track Listing for Michael Week:**

**Artie Abrams - Is It Scary?**

**Blaine Anderson - Stranger In Moscow**

**Rachel Berry - Papa Was a Rollin' Stone**

**Mike Chang - Rockin' Robin**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - Earth Song**

**Sam Evans - Butterflies**

**Quinn Fabray - In The Closet**

**Rory Flannigan - Doctor My Eyes**

**Joe Hart - Heal The World**

**Finn Hudson - It All Begins and Ends With Love**

**Kurt Hummel - Hallelujah Day**

**Mercedes Jones - A Change Is Gonna Come**

**Santana Lopez - Tabloid Junkie**

**Sugar Motta - How Funky Is Your Chicken?**

**Brittany Pierce - Ease On Down The Road**

**Noah Puckerman - Big Boy **


	12. Passion

Blaine woke up right on schedule. As if this Sunday were any other Sunday. As if he weren't still battling the effects of a concussion. Church started at 9:30 so Blaine carefully chose his clothes and showered, well aware that regardless of circumstance, the Andersons always looked their best.

The only hints that his parents remembered were the scent of lemon bundt cake hanging in the air and the small box beside his plate. Birthday omelets. A tradition that started with Coop, just like the lemon cake. Though their mother was amazing in the kitchen and had been known to make fancy cakes for others, Coop always preferred lemon cake mix from a box. Just as he preferred a ham and cheese omelet each birthday morning.

"You guys… You didn't have to get me anything. Really…" Blaine managed.

"It's your birthday, honey. Of course we got you something," his mom said.

"Go on. Open it," his father encouraged from behind the Sunday paper. "And, uh… Try to lose the sunglasses in church. People will think you're full of yourself."

Obediently, Blaine nodded and carefully opened the gift. Inside the box was a single bow tie. Squinting behind the sunglasses, he was able to make out a staff and musical notes, decorating its white surface. Blaine's throat closed unexpectedly with emotion.

It would seem a small thing to anyone else, but it meant that his parents paid attention to what he was wearing. What he liked. What his fashion choices were.

"We thought you'd like it because of all the singing you do with that group," his father said gruffly from behind the paper.

"I do. I like it very much. Thank you. I'll wear it today."

"Without the sunglasses," his father reminded. "You'll look like Ray Charles."

Blaine smiled wistfully, thinking he had quite a ways to go if he were to resemble Mr. Charles. He didn't realize he was singing _Georgia on my Mind _softly under his breath until he heard his mom's quiet laughter.

* * *

Church was the same as always. An exercise in masks and faces, and all without the buffer of something to hide his eyes. Something that Blaine had come to rely on. Still, he greeted people with a polite and practiced smile. Shook their hands firmly. Accepted condolences months after the loss of Coop and said a calm and sincere "thank you." Condolences, not birthday wishes. Blaine did not do what he wished he could. He did not collapse to his knees. He didn't avoid the sanctuary, where Coop's coffin had stood not so long ago, draped in flowers. Instead, Blaine held his head up, and walked in. He sang the hymns by memory because looking at the hymnal made him dizzy.

_Be Thou My Vision_, _Great Is Thy Faithfulness, Be Still My Soul, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus_ and more. Blaine swallowed back the lump that came. It was strange. He could come to church, he could walk into the sanctuary. He could listen to the sermon and remain distant emotionally. But the moment their reverend asked them to turn to a particular page in the hymnal. To sing something? That's when it was so hard to keep composure. Coop had a wonderful singing voice and more than once, Blaine found himself glancing beside him, searching. He was so sure Coop was here, too, his voice lifted with the congregation in a fading echo.

* * *

Blaine made it through church and on the drive home, he donned his sunglasses again and listened as his parents asked whether he'd like to go out for lunch or dinner, and where exactly. Another Anderson family birthday tradition. They weren't so heavy with the gifts, but food was extremely important to them. So, Blaine chose a restaurant he knew his parents enjoyed, because he wasn't all that hungry, and made it through the polite chit-chat about church and what everyone thought of the sermon that morning.

It was in the car on the way back home when Blaine's phone rang for the first time all day. He glanced down to see Kurt's name in the display window.

"May I take this?" Blaine asked, though his parents were speaking mostly with each other.

At his mom's nod, Blaine picked up the call and said a hurried hello. A slow smile spread across his face as he listened to Kurt Hummel sing _Happy Birthday to You_ in its entirety.

"I wasn't sure anyone would remember…" Blaine hedged, a smile on his face in spite of his nerves. Being sung to? Well, it was always nice.

"Of course I remember," Kurt chided easily. "What do you take me for? Anyway, I just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday. Having fun?"

"Yeah, you could say that…" Blaine ventured. "Hanging out with my parents. Big breakfast, church, out to eat…"

"Wow. The Andersons don't mess around…"

"No, we most definitely don't," Blaine returned, relaxing a little, finally.

"Well, listen, I'm calling because I'm wondering if you might be home soon. You have a birthday visitor on your doorstep, and while it's not me, it's someone who's not crazy about standing in the cold February snow for an undetermined amount of time."

Blaine furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, we're turning down our street now. Oh, I see her," he smiled, spotting Rachel dressed like she'd stepped of the screen of some old movie, in a jacket and a matching hat. "Thanks, Kurt. You made my day."

"Anytime," Kurt returned, just in time for Rachel to rush to Blaine's car door and yank it open, throwing her arms around him.

"Happy birthday!" she exclaimed. "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. I hope it's all right I just dropped by. I brought Blaine a gift and I wanted to give it to him in person if that's all right?"

In what seemed like no time, Rachel had spirited Blaine off to his room and closed the door firmly behind them and sitting beside him on the bed.

"How are you? Seriously? I _did _come bearing gifts but also to check on your status as a member of Sue's Kids. You were out last week and we're a mere _two weeks _from Regionals. And a month away from the Sue's Kids tour happening over Spring Break. We need you, Blaine, desperately. Please say you're not out forever, because if you do, Miss Sylvester says she's going to punish us severely…"

Blaine laughed in spite of his persistent headache. "Don't worry. I'll be back. I think my parents want me to stay out this week, but after that I can start back up with Sue's Kids. We're just being cautious. By the way, do you think you could ask Ms. Sylvester what the theme is this week so I can keep up with the homework? No rush. Tomorrow's fine. Or Tuesday. I can learn fast."

"No need. I have her on speed dial for glee-related emergencies," Rachel revealed, punching a single button and waiting. "Miss Sylvester, hello. This is Rachel Berry calling on behalf of Blaine Anderson. He'd like the homework for this week. Right. Yes, you have my word. I promise not to listen to a word. Here he is."

Comically, Rachel handed the phone to Blaine and then turned her back and stuck her fingers in her ears to block out the sound of Blaine's side of the conversation.

"Is Rachel out of hearing distance?" Ms. Sylvester insisted.

"She's not listening," Blaine assured.

"All right. The theme this week is Passion. I'll read off the list of songs and I want you to choose the one you feel you will massacre the least. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I understand." Blaine listened as she read the choices and then told her one under his breath.

"Oh, great. Now I'll have your version of this classic burned into my brain. You'd better make it good," Miss Sylvester insisted.

"Yes, you have my word."

"Oh and Blaine?" Ms. Sylvester called.

"Yes?"

"Happy birthday, kiddo."

Her tone warmed the tiniest bit and Blaine couldn't help but feel touched. "How did you _know_?"

"I know everything," she said mysteriously before the call was disconnected.

"Hmm… That was strange…" Blaine said to himself and tapped Rachel on the shoulder.

Rachel turned around and her expression caught him by surprise. She looked as if she might burst. "I have to tell you something. Finn asked me to marry him…and I said yes!"

Blaine's mouth dropped open. Despite his fatigue he tried to focus on Rachel's words. "Really? That's…that's fantastic…" he said, searching for the appropriate reaction.

"Really?" Rachel asked. "Because Kurt…he's not supportive…I mean, I he says he _would be _if we waited a few years, but that's just it, Blaine, Finn and I don't want to wait. You can understand that, can't you?" she said, almost begging.

"Of-of course!" Blaine stuttered. It was true. He could understand it. How many times a day did he go over and over some moment with Coop, wishing he'd said some extra thing? Done something just a bit different? So that maybe his brother would still be here.

"Great!" Rachel gushed. "We're getting married after Nationals!"

After squealing and bouncing up and down on the bed enough to make Blaine nauseous, Rachel produced a wrapped gift he had forgotten all about from the pocket of her jacket.

"This is for you," she said, composing herself. "I figured since you were limited in screen time that meant movies or YouTube videos were out of the question and since I know your parents baked you a cake…" she trailed off, waiting for him to open it.

Blaine removed the tape carefully and slid out a homemade CD labeled **HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BLAINE! LOVE, RACHEL BERRY**.

"Aw, what's this?" Blaine asked.

"Covers. Of your favorite songs, done by me for your listening pleasure. All of them are piano versions, but Kurt assured me you wouldn't mind."

"Kurt?" Blaine managed.

"Yes, Kurt. Who else do you think I called to find out your favorite songs…guilty pleasures and all?" Rachel asked with a smile. "Well, you rest," she frowned at the CD in her hand. "I don't suppose you have a CD player?" she asked wrinkling her nose.

"No, but I can stick it in the computer. It'll be fine. Thank you so much, Rachel, it really means a lot to me that you've stopped by. That you remembered."

"Of course," she said, leaning over and wrapping her arms around him gently. "Come back to us soon, okay? We miss you."

After Rachel left, Blaine did as he'd promised, placing the CD in his computer and letting it play as he closed his eyes. He forced himself to stay awake to listen through _Psalm_ and _Sunset _by Roxy Music. _Raise Your Glass _and _Perfect _by Pink, _Who Wants to Live Forever_ and _The Show Must Go On_ by Queen, _Firework_ and _Teenage Dream _by Katy Perry, _Careless Whisper _and _Wake Me Up Before You Go Go _by Wham and finally _Mmm-bop _and _I Will Come to You _by Hanson.

Each cover was soft and melodic, with Rachel presumably playing her own piano accompaniment. How much work had gone into this? How many hours to learn the songs, come up with arrangements and actually sit down and record them? And while Kurt knew the artists Blaine liked and a few of the songs thanks to being in the Warblers together, how had he and Rachel guessed the rest? His love of Hanson from when he was a little boy and Coop tried to teach him to dance?

It made tears well in Blaine's eyes. It made turning seventeen without his big brother feel a little less scary…and it made Coop seem closer by than he had seemed in a very long time.

* * *

On Monday, after a hellish day at school where she found out that Berry was getting married, of all things, Santana decided to check out her Facebook. By now, it had been almost three months since Finn outed her, and Santana hadn't wanted to risk it before. Even though she had signed in from time to time, just to make sure it didn't go totally inactive. There were a lot of pictures on there of her and her mom. She couldn't bear it if she lost them.

Santana clicked on her own name and scowled. Since she'd been here, the layout and everything had changed. Santana didn't do change well, obviously. She clicked around the alerts she'd missed, not seeing the hateful comments she thought she might. The only reference to it at all was from Brittany, whose status update read: "_Lebanese unicorns are my favorite._" It made Santana smile.

As she got closer and closer to November, though, her stomach clenched. Against her will, she went to her dad's page, where there was usually nothing but sporadic posts from colleagues and birthday wishes from months before. Santana's eyes widened as she saw Finn's post tagging her dad still at the top of his page after all this time. (_**Santana Lopez **__can dish it out but can she take it? I wonder if __**Julio Lopez **__knows his daughter is gay? If he didn't before, he does now.)_ On her own page, the post had been buried immediately. But here, it was as if it had just happened. Now, though, there was a response she hadn't seen.

**Julio Lopez** _Did know. Does not matter. You are lucky I don't press charges against you, you coward. _

Santana's eyebrows raised in surprise. Since when did her dad know this about her? _She _didn't even know it until she was, like, twelve. Still, it made her heart beat a little crazily. Quickly, she clicked away from her dad's page and braved her inbox. It turned out, that's where all the hate was hiding. So she clicked delete without really looking. One message brought her up short.

_Santana,_

_I know you rarely check your email and I wanted to be sure you saw this. It's Dad. Just want you to know your mom and I have always known and it's never mattered. We love you as much now as ever. Do you know the person who wrote that about you? Are you friends? If so, get better ones. You deserve better than that. I'm disappointed in the drinking, but never disappointed in you as a person. I love you. Love, Dad._

Blinking away tears, Santana clicked reply and wrote: _Just found this. Thank you. Means a lot._

Finally, she clicked "Home" and scanned what was new with her friends:

One post caught her eye from Sebastian. Just seeing his name made her skin crawl:

_Apparently, all it takes is a shove down some stairs to knock a former Warbler off his game. Now, he gets to rock a new look and I get the pride of a job well done._

* * *

Two weeks since his concussion and Blaine was still struggling in class. So when Santana Lopez sat beside him and rattled off a Spanish sentence that sounded quite a bit like "_What did you do to Sebastian?" _Blaine was speechless. Until his Spanish came back and he was able to stutter a response.

"_Nothing. I didn't do anything to him. I promise you_." Blaine's eyes were wide behind his sunglasses but there was no way for Santana to know that. The fact remained that the last thing Blaine wanted to do was get on Santana's bad side. She had a temper from what he'd seen.

"Not _what did you do to him_!" Santana whispered fiercely in English so their Profesora wouldn't hear. "Do you know what _he_ did to _you_?"

Blaine blinked, uncomprehending.

"For God's sake, Anderson. Here. Look at this. You can still read, right?" she quipped.

Blaine bristled and took the paper from her hands. It was a printed page from Facebook with a section highlighted. He squinted. "Sebastian…pushed me?" he asked, realization slowly dawning on him.

"You really didn't know?" she asked, in Spanish again. It sounded beautiful, but he couldn't enjoy it.

He shook his head.

They sat up when they heard the familiar "Hola, clase," spoken by an unfamiliar voice. Apparently the usual teacher was out. Blaine sighed. Substitutes meant less being covered in class and less respect by the students.

"You'll love her, Anderson," Santana whispered.

"I highly doubt that," he responded skeptically.

To his surprise, though, this substitute did a nice, thorough job and she gave them fun sentences to practice in Spanish. Complex sentences with lots of tenses. When it came to note-taking, though, Blaine still struggled to keep up. The wrist brace and his general slowness making adequate note-taking all but impossible.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Santana hissed. "Would it kill you to ask for help? Here." Without being asked, she grabbed Blaine's notebook roughly and began furiously trying to catch up. "Try to absorb as much as you can through your broken head," she whispered darkly. "I got this."

Blaine smiled tightly, nodding his thanks, distracted now not only by the pain in his head and how hard it was to concentrate, but with this new knowledge. That the reason he was hurt wasn't due to clumsiness. It was because someone was intentionally devious and set out to hurt him.

What was he going to do?

* * *

That afternoon, after nearly twenty-four hours of seething in her own rage on Anderson's behalf, Santana stalked into Sue's Kids rehearsals with a copy of Sebastian's taunts in her hand.

"Coach! You have to do something about this!" Santana insisted, barely noticing the other Sue's Kid's milling around.

Coach Sue turned from ogling the trophy case. "What could you possibly be speaking of? May I remind you, I'm not a mind-reader."

"This Sebastian Smythe jerk!" Santana exclaimed. "He copped to shoving Anderson down the stairs! You have to _do something_, Coach! Check your cameras! Get proof that he did it so we can press charges!"

Calmly - infuriatingly so - Coach Sue took the papers from Santana and read them carefully. "He was intentional with this. He never actually owns up to a crime here. Not in the post and not in any of the bevy of absolutely disturbing comments. This won't stand up in a court of law," she said, shaking her head seriously. "Give me time. I'll figure something out."

"But it's already been _two weeks_!" Santana insisted. "He's out there gloating! Are you seriously not going to do anything?" Vaguely, Santana was aware of her own voice gaining intensity. She had to calm the hell down, but how could she when there was no justice anywhere?

The abrupt snapping of Coach's fingers startled her.

"Q. Here," Coach said recognizing in the same moment Santana did that Brittany was busy carefully braiding Joe Hart's dreads.

Wordlessly, Quinn walked with a confidence Santana always felt safe around. She followed Quinn out and into Coach Sue's office where Quinn closed the door and waited.

"This is so stupid!" Santana ranted. "Why isn't she doing anything?!"

"What exactly do you want her to do?" Quinn asked in a level tone.

"_Protect us_! Give _two shits _about what happens to us! God, Quinn! Some Dalton Academy asshole shoves one of _us _down the stairs - injures him bad enough to have him wearing a damn wrist splint and recovering from a concussion - and there's not a damn thing she'll do about it!"

"Okay. Sit down. Please," Quinn insisted and Santana was forced to stop pacing. She sat, while Quinn took a seat behind Coach's desk. "This Dalton student. You said his name was Sebastian?"

Santana nodded miserably.

"The same Sebastian you got drunk with."

It wasn't a question and Santana glared.

"My guess is that it's the same Sebastian who started the use of my most-hated nickname, Lucy Caboosey, in second grade. I'm absolutely positive of two things," Quinn waited to be sure she had Santana's attention. "One, the Sebastian Smythe _I knew_ is totally capable of something like that…and two, trust that Coach Sue will take care of it."

Santana slumped in her chair. All the anger finally having seeped out of her.

"Now, do you think you can keep it together long enough to go back in there? Because I need the practice for Regionals and I don't want to miss the homework assignment. She only gives it out once and if we miss it, we're out of luck."

"Yeah," Santana managed, though she was still shaking a little. "I'll be okay."

* * *

Santana stormed into Miss Pillsbury's office on Wednesday, sitting on the floor, with her back against the desk drawers. There was no way she was confiding in Miss Pillsbury about anything that was actually going on. People had done nothing but proven that their word meant little to nothing. She knew nothing she told Miss Pillsbury about Anderson or what had been done to him would make a damn bit of difference.

"Hello," Miss Pillsbury greeted finally, glancing down at Santana.

Santana gave her half a wave. Hanging out with Miss Pillsbury was worse than a study hall, because she actually had to concentrate on herself and all her stupid feelings. But, Santana reminded herself, last week went okay. And Miss Pillsbury seemed to actually kind of care, which was a nice change.

"Sue's Kids is so ridiculous!" Santana exploded, unprompted. "We're doing a theme this week and, seriously? _None _of them know the first thing about who sings the songs they picked!"

"I see. And what's the theme?"

"Coach Sue says it's Passion, but it's obviously _Latin_ passion because all of the artists are Latin. Rachel, Mercedes, Tina and I all picked songs by Selena and I could just see by the looks on their faces…they were, like, _relieved _to get an artist they actually knew, but then all of them freaked out when they found out they weren't singing _Love You Like a Love Song_," Santana grimaced.

"I don't know much about this particular genre, but I assume there are two young ladies both named Selena? Right? And your fellow Sue's Kids were hoping for the one they were familiar with. Why does that bother you?"

"Because it does! Some chick from the Disney Channel singing Synthpop? She was _named_ for the original!" When Miss Pillsbury didn't respond immediately, Santana was even more defensive. "It's true. E!Online doesn't lie."

"I hear you. And, the good news is, I can tell already, you're going to do very well with this week's assignment because you obviously care about the music. Now let's take a minute. Take a breath-"

"-This is embarrassing…"

"Santana, no one knows you're in here. In fact, from where I'm sitting, it looks like I'm talking to myself, and that I have been for the last five minutes. I'm not embarrassed. Just humor me. Breathe."

Santana ducked her head and tried to do as Miss Pillsbury asked. She really hadn't asked much of Santana since they started this last week, and talking to her _did_ sort of help. She took a few deep breaths but still felt tense.

"Can you tell me what's bothering you about the fact that the kids don't know the music?"

"That they _don't know it_!" Santana exclaimed. "Selena's amazing, all right? My mom? _Loved _all these artists. She taught me about all of them, including Selena. So that even though Selena died when I was a baby, I grew up with her music. It's important that people know who she was. Just because she died doesn't mean her impact is gone…"

"That's very true. And you've piqued my curiosity. Okay? So, here's an idea…" Miss Pillsbury suggested after a pause. "How about you use all of that wonderful passion you have for Latin culture and music to teach your classmates something about who these people are? Prolong that impact, if you will."

Santana bit her lip. All of this was so deeply connected to her mom. Her mom, who made sure Santana knew and respected all parts of her background, not just the Spanish part. She couldn't very well sit them all down and give them a lesson, but maybe she could suggest a movie.

Slowly, Santana rose to her feet and nodded. "Thanks, Miss Pillsbury."

Outside, she leaned against the glass of the office wall and sent a text to Mercedes, Rachel and Tina. It read: _You should watch the movie, Selena, with Jennifer Lopez_ _tonight. If you can't find it, you can borrow my copy._

* * *

_Dear HSM,_

_I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get back to you. I have no excuse, just that it couldn't be avoided. Your message took time for me to process, but I'm so sorry to leave you without a response for so long. (Even though you said I could delete it and never talk about it again, which I would never do, unless it's something that you really wanted.)_

_It was absolutely devastating to read your letter to your mom. It's been a half-hour and I think I've finally collected myself enough to be coherent in a response. Upfront, I want to say that it doesn't change anything about how I feel toward you. I know my lack of response in the past has made you feel as though our friendship is on shaky ground. Let me assure you that is not the case. None of what you went through was your fault. I'm not a mental health professional, but as a friend (I hope we're still friends?) I wanted to let you know that your struggles, and what was done to you in no way define you. They may have shaped you, but they don't define you._

_Feel free to vent, sent me anything you need to get off your chest. I'll always be here to listen. Your anger is, and has always been, liberating to me from afar, if that makes sense. You being angry so freely lets me know it's okay to be angry, too. And that's a great thing. So, thank you. I know you're hurting. I know it's difficult beyond words that your mom isn't here anymore, but HSM, anyone who loved you as much as she did would never have left you by choice. Though, abandonment feels the same no matter how they leave or who does the leaving…doesn't it? Just know that your mom loved you because you deserve to be loved. No one is unlovable no matter what they do. No matter what was done to them. I can't imagine the pain you've experienced and I'm so sorry you've had to endure it. _

_And, listen, I know I'm not your mom but you ARE worthy of love and respect. You are wanted. You matter. Courage, HSM. You are not alone. _

_Love and respect, _

_CB_

Sent on 2/8/12 at 9:25 p.m.

* * *

Two hours after he began the message, Blaine hit send, and hoped that after weeks of silence, she would be open to hearing his response. He let out a breath and powered down his computer. He'd felt silly typing with sunglasses but the last thing he needed was to exacerbate his injury.

His injury…the reality of Sebastian intentionally causing this sat heavily in Blaine's gut, but instead of focusing on it, he picked up his acoustic guitar and played a few notes of his song for his Passion Week assignment. He didn't sing yet. He'd save it for tomorrow. When Blaine would own the work, tell the story, and know, deep down that he was singing for HSM.

* * *

Before he knew it, Thursday was upon him. Blaine struggled through classes, and was more focused on the possibility of using Skype to enhance his performance than he was with any of his class work. He talked to Artie, asking if he'd be up for connecting to Skype through his phone during tonight's Sue's Kids. He was on board, and before Blaine knew it, it was show time, so to speak.

Artie was more than reliable with connecting Blaine to Sue's Kids practice via Skype, and it was nice to be able to see everyone and feel, almost, as if he were there with them. Next week, fingers crossed, he could be back.

"Blaine, nice of you to join us," Ms. Sylvester offered, strangely without her usual inflection. "First things first. You all should know that I have seen to it - via a personal trip to visit Dalton Academy's headmaster - that a copy of one Sebastian Smythe's idiotic bragging was handed over to those in charge. It was my personal recommendation that Sebastian receive the same treatment he dished out. Sadly, I was denied the pleasure, but I was promised that he would be dealt with. Courtesy of a direct message I received from the Twitter handle DAHeadmaster: "Smythe is expelled. Your witness was invaluable."

"Wait. There - there was a _witness_?" Blaine stammered.

"You bet your concussed noggin there was a witness. One Trent Warbler, who was brought along to speed the getaway process. He came forward on your behalf once he was interrogated separately and was assured no further harm would come to you."

"How did you find out?" Blaine wondered.

"Simple. I scanned hours worth of footage from my super-secret cameras and was able to capture an image of Smythe fleeing the scene, while his toady tried desperately to intervene on Blaine's behalf."

"Oh." Blaine managed.

"Now. Since I don't want excess screen time to be used as an excuse as to why you're not back next week, let's get on with this, shall we? Artie, phone. So I can scrutinize every move one Blaine Anderson makes from this pitifully tiny screen."

Blaine closed his eyes so he wouldn't get dizzy at the confusing images of floor, chairs and students. Instead, he used the time to close his eyes, breathe and truly concentrate on what he was about to do.

His song, Shakira's _Underneath Your Clothes_ was so full of passion, how could Blaine _not _use it as a vehicle to express what he was feeling toward HSM. And, no, it wasn't about getting HSM actually naked. It was about him being emotionally honest. It was about him putting out into the world how much Blaine had been moved by what she chose to share. The word passion was Latin for suffering, which Blaine knew. That was why it made sense for him to use this song to speak to her suffering.

This was the only time he had not practiced his song at all. He'd listened to it a thousand times. Knew all the lyrics and nuances. But he wanted the performance to be as authentic as possible. So, he only let himself sing it once.

He played the opening notes and, taking a cue from Rachel's birthday gift to him, Blaine played it soft and acoustic. He didn't have a theatrical voice like Rachel or Kurt. It couldn't fill a stadium like Mercedes'. He had a very small niche that only Blaine could fill, if he let himself.

And he let himself.

He closed his eyes and he went there, singing the lyrics like a secret. Like a lullaby. They filled him and he almost whispered them. No fanfare. No wordy introduction about how this song was dedicated to some girl he would likely never even meet.

The song would have to stand on its own. And it would. Blaine was sure of that, as he opened his eyes and disconnected Skype before he even registered the applause.

Because he was strangely exhausted, Blaine crawled into bed and slept. Waking up hours later to a text from Ms. Sylvester. It was a picture. The subject line read: Comment Card Blaine 2/8.

Hesitantly, Blaine opened the message. It was a picture of the white board in the choir room. The top right corner labeled Sue Sylvester's List of Champions. Now it read:

Joe

Rachel

Tina

Blaine

He was breathless. He won. For the first time all year, Blaine won a homework assignment.

**Track Listing for Passion Week:**

**Artie Abrams - Whenever, Wherever by Shakira**

**Blaine Anderson - Underneath Your Clothes by Shakira**

**Rachel Berry - Dreaming of You by Selena**

**Mike Chang - Livin' La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - Bidi Bidi Bom Bom by Selena**

**Sam Evans - Conga by Gloria Estefan**

**Quinn Fabray - Waiting For Tonight by Jennifer Lopez**

**Rory Flannigan - You Sang To Me by Marc Anthony**

**Joe Hart - Let's Get Loud by Jennifer Lopez**

**Finn Hudson - I Need To Know by Marc Anthony**

**Kurt Hummel - She Wolf by Shakira**

**Mercedes Jones - Where Did The Feeling Go - Selena**

**Santana Lopez - Como La Flor by Selena**

**Sugar Motta - Rhythm Is Gonna Get You by Gloria Estefan**

**Brittany Pierce - Hips Don't Lie by Shakira**

**Noah Puckerman - Shake Your Bon Bon by Ricky Martin**


	13. Vulnerability

Over the next few days, Blaine continued to feel better. Winning the homework assignment for Sue's Kids had definitely helped. It also helped that he would be allowed to be back in rehearsals this week.

He still hadn't heard from HSM, though, and that was concerning. His history with her let him know that despite her tough exterior, HSM was easily rattled. It wouldn't take much to convince her that he was no longer there for her. So, on Sunday morning, after church, Blaine reached out to her, hoping to hear back, but not really expecting anything:

_Dear HSM,_

_It's been a while and I still haven't heard from you. I'm worried. Are you okay? I know it's my fault for not getting back to you sooner, and you have no reason to forgive me for taking so long, but just know that I am sorry. Please write and let me know you're okay. CB._

Sent on 2/12/12 at 10:55 a.m.

* * *

Santana had stopped sleeping at night. It felt the same way as those first few months after she lost her mom, except now, it was compounded by all the millions of traumatizing memories from her past. That, plus not hearing from CB, plus worrying about Blaine? It was all turning her into a zombie. Four hours of sleep on a weekend wasn't going to do it, and if she wasn't going to talk to Quinn or Brittany or Miss Pillsbury about what was going on…well…who else did she have?

_CB- I'm still alive._

Sent on 2/12/12 at 11:17 a.m.

* * *

Blaine's blood ran cold seeing that simple sentence. What did it mean? Was she feeling hopeless? What could he do from so far away? Why had he let so much time pass before writing back to her?

_Not very reassuring, HSM. What is going on? Seriously, I'm here for you. I promise. So, yell at me, ask me questions, tell me anything that's on your mind. Just don't shut me out. And please don't do anything you'll regret. CB._

Sent on 2/12/12 at 11:26 a.m.

* * *

Weird that he was so concerned about her now. Also weird? How, for the first time in weeks, she'd nodded off without starting awake, terrified. Was hearing from CB _that _important to her? Well, maybe. But damned if she was going to let _him_ know that. Santana banged out a reply her fingers quickly stabbing at the keys on her computer, glad to feel something, other than raw grief.

_Oh, calm down. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'd miss me too much. But seriously? Why is it hard to figure out that I'm pissed off at you? You know all my crap now. All of it. Nobody else knows what you know. And instead of being there for me like you said you would you left me hanging for weeks. I get that you have a life, but seriously, getting the silent treatment like that from you just makes me that much more positive that I should've never trusted some random creep on the internet in the first place. _

Sent on 2/12/12 at 12:37 p.m.

* * *

Blaine had spent the last hour, frantically refreshing his computer screen. When her reply came through, he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't stand losing another person. And he couldn't stand knowing he was even partially responsible for something like that. Not again. That's why, he forced himself to look past his anger, and reply with the compassion he would want if he were feeling like HSM was right now:

_HSM, It's not hard to understand. I get it completely. What can I do to make it up to you? CB._

Sent on 2/12/12 at 12:39 p.m.

* * *

When her computer chimed, Santana jumped a little, surprised to see CB's reply come through right in front of her eyes. Jesus, was he on _right now_, all freaked out about her mental health? She was struggling, but not a total basket case.

Still, she decided to wait until she talked to Miss Pillsbury to write him again. (And the awful part of her wanted to let him experience what it had been like to be left hanging.) So, she'd let him sweat a little. And, she'd be able to kind of get her thoughts together. Miss P. was always good at encouraging Santana to be honest about what she needed. Otherwise, how would CB know what to do differently? And deep down, Santana really _did _want to give him another chance. Monday was the start of another week. Tuesday was Sue's Kids, where the theme of vulnerability absolutely terrified her. She'd never been more glad to have her appointment on the day between Sue's Kids rehearsals. She could talk about vulnerability and not feel lame about it.

She spent time with Miss P. and it was okay. She didn't talk about CB exactly, but more hypothetically about what to do when someone close breaks your trust. Miss P, of course, used her shrink powers to deduce that this was a common theme in Santana's life, but instead of judging her she asked Santana how close a friend this was. Was it someone she was willing to cut out of her life? Or was it something she could work through, and maybe grow from?

Those were the thoughts working their way through her head on Wednesday night, with 3 Doors Down playing on her I-Pod, when she finally decided to write back to CB. She'd risk it:

_Honestly, CB? It freaks me out that you know everything about me, and I feel like I know next to nothing about you. Yes, I know about how your brother died, and that's a big deal. But other than that? I feel like I have no idea who you are. You have so many walls up, and this is coming from someone with a ton, myself. I want this thing with us to be equal, and right now, it's not. You wanted to know how you could help? I need you to be as honest with me as I've been with you. I want to know your secrets. What kind of kid you were. What you're ashamed of. I want those private moments that I trusted you with. And while it sucks that you won't just give them to me, I get that you also can't read my mind. If you want to keep this up, I want to know something about you. Something real. Something that lets me know you're in this as deep as I am._

Sent on 2/15/12 at 7:34 p.m.

* * *

Three days.

Blaine wasn't prepared for the fear he'd feel, even though HSM claimed she wasn't thinking of doing anything impulsive. He was trying to figure out his Sue's Kids assignment, listening to Adele on his computer while trying to work out the chords on piano, as well as any key changes. It was easier to focus on those things than it was to think about the point of the assignment. When he heard the ping of new Hope & Healing mail, Blaine abandoned his music altogether and quickly read HSM's message.

It was a fair request. The way things were now, it was unequal. Especially for HSM who seemed to take such pains not to be vulnerable. Now she had been, and she was right, he hadn't shared anything with her. So, he sat back, and thought about it, listening to Adele's soulful voice and hoping she would give him the inspiration and courage he needed to share something meaningful:

_When I was eight years old, my entire family went to see Finding Nemo together. We didn't do much as a family, and I was a huge Disney fan, so having my whole family together for this was so incredible. _

_I assume you've seen the movie. The awesome animation, the colors…but that first scene…where the mother fish darts down to protect her babies and the big barracuda sees and attacks… When it was obvious that the mother and almost all the eggs had been eaten, and the last one was shaking with fear, I just broke down, sobbing loudly in the middle of the theater. I couldn't bear the thought of my mom dying and being left alone with just my father to raise me. _

_My father and brother were sitting on either side of me, and both of them were so embarrassed by my crying. They kept whispering for me to stop right now, but I couldn't because Coral and hundreds of her babies had been eaten. I couldn't stop crying so they both escorted me out of the theater. My mom walked behind us more slowly. Once we were in the parking lot my father and brother started talking quietly about how unacceptable and embarrassing my crying was. _

_When we were all in the car, and headed for home, that's when the real yelling began. (My family couldn't be seen as anything other than absolutely together 100% of the time, so they always waited until we were behind closed doors to really let emotions show.) My mom was absolutely silent while my father just let me have it. I was too old to behave like that. I wasn't a baby anymore. It was just a stupid movie. They could never take me anywhere. The entire time, my brother (16, at the time) held the back of my neck tightly and tried to stifle my crying with his other hand over my mouth. _

_When we got home, my father took me to my room and shook me, telling me to stop until I finally did, shocked by the movement. ("You're an embarrassment." "Why can't you just be normal?") We never went to the movies as a family again. Since then, I have always felt like an embarrassment, and I have never felt normal. CB._

_P.S. Today marks nine months since you lost your mom, doesn't it? Know that I'm thinking of you, and of her, and if there is anything you need that you feel comfortable talking to me about, I'm here._

Sent on 2/15/12 at 8:11 p.m.

* * *

Santana did not expect the lump in her throat or the tears in her eyes when she read CB's story. (For the record, she blamed 3 Doors Down, which was still blaring in her ears.) How could a dad be so cruel to his kid? (Santana knew exactly how, but still, it sucked.) And his brother sounded like an ass. But then CB said he was eight, and that was a while after the trouble started. So, it would make sense. And the P.S. at the end had caught her completely off guard. Of course _she _remembered…she just…never expected anyone else to.

She struggled for a bit with what to say. "I'm sorry," seemed so empty, but she had to say something:

_Dear CB- First of all, thank you for remembering my mom. You're the only one who has, and it means a lot that you do. And secondly, that totally sucks, the way your dad and brother treated you. You were just a kid. And no one really tells you this, but Disney movies are all pretty scary if you think about it. It's totally understandable that you would freak out. They should have treated you better. God, WHY is it that our families just think they can say whatever the hell they want to us and it won't hurt us? I mean, things they forget in a second, those stick with you for years and years. And that's not fair. Now I can't vouch for your being normal - and I'm totally being sarcastic here, trying to lighten the mood, so calm down - but you're not an embarrassment. In all seriousness, CB, crying over something scary and sad is completely normal, but I think I understand a little better why you try to put up such a front with other people…why you don't share much. We're kind of alike that way. Anyway, I'm not gonna use any of your family's shit against you, so don't worry. You can share more if you want, but you don't have to._

_Things are better between me and my dad. I don't know how to explain it, but it's progress and that's something. Also, I'm kind of talking to this counselor at school, because I've had such a hard time dealing lately. I don't talk about specifics. I don't talk about my mom. Still, it helps to have somewhere to go. Someone to talk to during the school day, when I can't talk to you. I hope you're not, like, pissed or anything. It's just something I needed. You don't seem like a judger, so I thought I could tell you. _

Sent on 2/15/12 at 8:23 p.m.

* * *

Blaine breathed a sigh of relief, trying not to feel like a terrible person for leaving HSM hanging for so long after sharing her own secrets. These few minutes had been hard enough for him, wondering if she would judge him, or not want to talk to him because of mistakes he'd already made and could not take back.

Now that the floodgate had opened, so to speak, Blaine found that he couldn't stop the memories from surfacing. One was particularly painful:

_After the funeral, it was awful. I had embarrassed my parents by getting really drunk. I don't remember what I said, but I know it mortified them. I was so drunk and my tongue was so loose. My parents drove me home and when we got there they blamed me for my brother's death. I blamed them for not listening to me sooner. My father hit me, and my mom just cried. I demanded to know why they babied my brother and insisted that I be a man, when I'm still a minor. They never did give me an answer._

_P.S. I would never judge you for seeking help from a person that isn't me. I don't know what I'm talking about most of the time anyway, and it seems like a great step to take, especially if you realize you need someone during school hours. I hope the counselor continues to help with whatever comes up for you. Also, I'm so glad to hear things are improving between you and your dad. I hope to improve things between us as well. CB._

Sent on 2/15/12 at 8:48 p.m.

* * *

CB's latest message had Santana turning off her I-Pod and throwing it across the room. She swore and heard her dad ask mildly from the living room if everything was okay. It wasn't. Not really. But how could she tell him that? Still, all this time she'd been walking around thinking she'd been left with a parent who didn't care about her. The truth was, though, he was pretty awesome. He was trying. He cared about her, and that wasn't just something, it was huge. Maybe, she'd send him another Facebook message tonight, telling him thanks.

Because she was too pissed to really write and make sense about CB's dad's total awfulness, she was short and to the point, choosing instead to focus on a nicer memory of her mom. She hoped CB wouldn't mind. She wasn't ignoring his pain. Just trying to bring something positive up, so they could both move forward together:

_CB- Parents really suck sometimes. I'm still sorry your dad treated you like that when you were a kid, and after the funeral. _

_My mom had this theory about pennies. You know how most people just think a heads-up penny is lucky? My mom believed that pennies could be signs. I was six the first time I found a penny in the house where I live now. I put it in my pocket right away so no one would take it away from me. But, she saw it. My mom - even though she hadn't been my mom yet at that point. She asked what I had, and I wouldn't tell her, but she'd totally seen me put the penny in my pocket so she started telling me how much she loved pennies and how she saw them as messages from people who died - that they're watching and keeping us safe. I said the whole thing was dumb, and took off to do something else…but the other day, I found a second penny out on the floor in our garage earlier today. It had the exact month and year of when my mom and I had that conversation. I put it in my pocket just like the one before. Then I stood for a long time and just waited for my mom to come and tell me that same story. She never came. But I still have the penny. I feel like she left it for me to find. Is that crazy?_

Sent on 2/15/12 at 8:56 p.m.

* * *

For reasons Blaine couldn't understand, goosebumps rose on his arms as he read the final paragraph from HSM. He'd always believed in God, not signs. He'd been raised with the belief that the two things were meant to exist in entirely separate corners. That they were the flipside of one another. Or opposite ends of a spectrum. Only HSM could open his mind to something like this. Something that he had not even known he'd been so closed off to. And now that he thought about it, Blaine sort of did have his own version of pennies. Something that always made him think of Coop:

_HSM, I think I might personally be a bit freaked out by it, but if it's a comfort to you, then hold onto it. Who knows? Maybe it is your mom sending you a sign. _

_Now that I'm telling you these memories from my childhood, I'm realizing it's kind of liberating (and terrifying) because I've never told anyone else these kinds of things. You're very brave to be as honest as you are about your feelings, and your past. I've always admired that about you. Since you shared a nice memory of your mom, I thought I would do the same and share something positive about my brother._

_In my first real memory, I was three years old. I was on my brother's lap and we were on a plane, going to visit relatives. My brother pointed out at the clouds and told me where we were going. For months after we came back, I thought our destination and the clouds we'd flown through were one and the same. I'd point to the sky and name a country. I'd get my brother's attention. Ask if he saw it, too. He would just laugh. It's so fuzzy, but it's nice. He was eleven. It was a few years before all the bad stuff started. He just seemed happy and carefree and I had no doubt in my mind that he loved me. I felt like, if we stuck together, everything would be okay._

_Maybe, pennies for you, are the same as clouds are for me. Because I can't see a cloud and not think of my brother._

Sent on 2/15/12 at 9:08 p.m.

* * *

For the first time in days, Santana smiled. She felt lighter somehow, and she couldn't think of a better way to spend what had been an awful day then to share these kinds of memories with a friend who really got what this was like for her.

Just like that, though, she glanced across the room, at where her I-Pod lay tangled on the floor, and got a vaguely sick feeling inside. This damn song for Sue's Kids was going to kill her. Why did they have to have such a theme week like this? No one wanted to be vulnerable, and Coach Sue hated crying. It didn't make sense, and yet, she couldn't imagine not going through with the assignment. Santana felt it inside. This was something she needed to do. Something she could honor her mom through, like one of their journal entries. It might even make her mom happy, because she was being so honest. Still, it didn't make things any easier:

_My mom told me once before she died about how if I was ever up early enough to catch a sunrise or found something that made me think of her, that it was her way of connecting with me. But lately, it's been hard to remember that she's there. And not once in my life have I ever seen a sunrise. I keep meaning to, but the sun comes up so damn early. Like, why couldn't she have said a sunset. That I could manage. I just feel so far away from hope, sometimes, you know? I have this stupid school assignment that I do not want to do, but I have no choice about it and I hate not having a choice._

Sent on 2/15/12 at 9:19 p.m.

* * *

Blaine smiled ruefully. Adele was still soulfully singing from his computer, reminding him of his own assignment tomorrow evening.

On one hand, it would be great to be there in person again. Tuesday, it had been great seeing everyone. Kurt had kind of hovered around him, Rachel talked about how pleased she was that he was back, and Santana Lopez had come up and stared at him really intensely, asking if he was all right. It had been startling - her concern especially - but nice.

On the other hand, there was nothing Blaine wanted to less than strip himself bare emotionally _again. _He had just done that last week, for HSM. Not that she hadn't been totally worth it, it was just that, if Blaine had to pick between her and Coop, HSM would always be the safe choice. HSM was somewhere out there, on the other end of a computer. She was someone he would never know. Would never look in the eye. Whereas Coop…well…Blaine had looked him in the eye every single day…watched him descend until there was nothing left. It was much easier to sing to an idea, than it was to a memory.

_HSM, You still have that penny in your pocket, right? Did you forget about it already? Your mom is always there with you and for you. Even if you live until you're 99 and never see a sunrise, that won't change your mom being there for you. Ironically, I have a thing about sunrises. I love them. I always have because they symbolize renewal. I have always wished there were a way to collect them or store them up for when I need something good to focus on. Someday, you and I should plan to see a sunrise together. Well, not together, exactly, but we could pick a morning and both go somewhere and watch it, and that way, it would be like being with our loved ones, but also with each other in a way, too. Does that make sense?_

_I know what you mean about difficult assignments. I have one myself that I have been putting off. It's no fun…but if you'll allow me to play Devil's advocate for a moment, you do always have a choice. You can do the assignment or you can not do it. Either way, the choice is yours. (So are the consequences, but I think those kinds of things go hand in hand.) If you want, I'll make you a deal. You do your hard assignment, and I'll do mine. The clock is ticking down for mine, so I really don't have a lot more time to put it off anyway. What do you say? CB._

Sent on 2/15/12 at 9:42 p.m.

* * *

Santana smirked. CB was almost as good at manipulating people as she was, and she found herself feeling proud of him for it. And the idea of watching a sunrise kind of made her happy. It was something to look forward to anyway.

_The sunrise idea? Sounds really cheesy, but totally like something you would come up with. I guess if it's something you want to do, I'm usually awake when the sun rises anyway, so it wouldn't be a hardship for me to get somewhere to watch it happen. Ugh, I guess I'll do my crappy assignment if you do yours. I'll be sure to let you know how bad it sucked and blame you afterward for everything. I'm exhausted so I'm gonna try to get some actual sleep tonight. Thanks for talking, though. _

Sent on 2/15/12 at 10:10 p.m.

* * *

The next morning, Santana woke up confused and glanced at her cell phone screen, surprised to see she had somehow managed to sleep for seven hours. That was more sleep than she had gotten in days. Maybe talking to CB was helping more than she realized. Grudgingly, Santana was glad that she hadn't cut him out of her life, even if she did kind of hate him right now. There was no way she was going to win the homework assignment tonight.

_CB- Today's the day, and I hate you more than usual. This is really going to suck._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 5:19 a.m.

* * *

After a chaotic day that included sneaking in to play his homework assignment during lunch, Blaine stopped by the Lima Bean and checked his Hope & Healing mail. He smiled at the message from HSM, and sent one back:

_You'll do great. I promise. We're in this together, remember? CB._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 4:54 p.m.

* * *

Blaine could not have predicted how it would feel to sit there, mere days after Valentine's Day, and watch Kurt sing a Jeff Buckley song, staring right at him. It tore at all of Blaine's heartstrings, and there weren't many intact anymore.

Of course Kurt won. It would have been ridiculous to give it to anyone else. Blaine's comment card described him as "distant" and "boring". Ms. Sylvester was very disappointed. Somehow, though, Blaine didn't find himself caring very much. His mind kept wandering to Kurt.

It was ridiculous to want to get back together with him. They hadn't even spoken since Blaine's birthday. Kurt didn't even know about Cooper. At this rate, HSM was looking like a better prospect than Kurt. If only HSM were a guy… He shook his head. He could not be thinking like this while he was staring at a blank message to her. It was too strange.

_My ex is making me want to get back together. We didn't even talk. I hate Valentine's Day. CB._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 9:47 p.m.

* * *

Santana rolled her eyes, thinking about the innocent kiss she and Brittany had exchanged earlier in the week. Brittany had assured Santana that she knew they weren't dating, but she wanted to give Santana something nice on Valentine's Day, and since Britt never could figure out how to work her computer, the playlist she had created was at home. She didn't even mind that Santana didn't have anything for her in return.

It was a peck. Their lips barely touched. But Figgins saw it and called them "teen lesbians" in front of everyone, and it was down to the office for them. Ridiculous, especially when she had to watch Finn and Berry suck face every single day, and no one raised a single objection.

_CB- At least you weren't caught giving your ex a Valentine's peck on the mouth and sent to the office over it…and my mom used to make me breakfast on Valentine's Day. _

Sent on 2/16/12 at 9:48 p.m.

* * *

Blaine's eyebrows raised in surprise. Did HSM go to a religious school? Maybe a boarding school like Dalton with a strict code of conduct? How else would she get in trouble over an innocent kiss on Valentine's Day? Still, he didn't want to pry, so he stuck to the things they usually spoke of:

_HSM, You should have told me. I would have come and made you breakfast. I know it wouldn't have been the same, but it would be better than nothing, right? _

_So, there was this party I could've gone to on Tuesday, but decided against it. Not knowing that two days later, my ex would be so attractive to me. You know, we really never stopped caring about each other? At least on my end. I wish things had happened differently. CB._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 10:10 p.m.

* * *

Santana smiled, imagining the CB she created in her mind in her kitchen, making her breakfast. Tall, blonde, and hot. Kind of like Sam, but with a more reasonable mouth. She bit her lip. It was sweet of him to say, but also way unrealistic, so Santana made sure he didn't get too carried away daydreaming. Plus, she didn't need him turning into a weirdo stalker.

_Oh, really, CB? And how exactly would you have transported yourself from the magical land where you live and made me anything? Last time I checked, you couldn't manage to make a turkey without your mom's help…not that I could either…but whatever._

_Ugh. I hate those stupid Valentine's parties, especially the ones where you have to bring a date. Valentine's Day isn't about love anyway. It's about what everything is about. Making money._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 10:17 p.m.

* * *

Blaine smiled, happy to see HSM back to her usual self. She was vague in his mind, but with each message, a clearer picture was forming. He pictured her blonde, and sharp-tongued, like Quinn Fabray. He couldn't help still thinking of Kurt, too, who had been a bit cynical about holidays and their meaning:

_You remind me of my ex. Wasn't a fan of Valentine's either, last year._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 10:19 p.m.

* * *

Santana made a face at the screen.

_CB- Gross. I'm offended. I'm not some dumb blonde chick._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 10:20 p.m.

* * *

Blaine's brow knitted together. If she wasn't blonde, he didn't know how to picture her. Definitely not Quinn Fabray, though. That coupled with the thought that he had offended HSM really bummed Blaine out. They didn't need anymore bumps in the road. Not when everything was going so well. That's why, this time, he was quick to apologize.

_HSM, I'm sorry I offended you, but there is really no possible way to compare the two of you other than by your dislike for Valentine's Day…and, perhaps, the sarcasm…but other than that, you're in the clear. Seriously, if you only knew. _

_Completely unrelated, but I wanted to be sure and give you fair warning. Things are going to be very busy for me over the next month or so. So, if I'm not in touch, don't panic. You can still write me, it just may take a while to get back to you. If you ever doubt that, read this message to remind yourself that even though I'm not writing you doesn't mean I'm not thinking of you and keeping you in my prayers. I definitely do not hate you and we are friends, so don't pull away from me, please. I care about you. _

_P.S. How did your assignment go?_

Sent on 2/16/12 at 10:23 p.m.

* * *

Santana cringed again and looked at the comment card on the corner of the desk. ("_Your connection to the material was impressive_. _Had you kept it together, you might have had an unprecedented 2 wins in a row. As it stands, this is significant for you. Good work.") _Sure, according to Coach Sue, she'd done fine, but to Santana? She didn't even want to think about it. Her breakdown had been humiliating. At least no one had come up and tried to comfort her or anything.

_CB- The assignment was totally horrifying, like I expected. I really don't want to talk about it since it was embarrassing. But at least I did it, so that's something. Did you do yours? Because if I went through all that embarrassment for nothing, that's really going to suck. Don't worry about being out of touch, this is my busy time of year, too. Thanks, though, for the warning. It means a lot that you'd let me know ahead of time like that. And same here, if you need me, you'd better find a way to write me, too. Until then, I guess we'll communicate telepathically or something. I'll be on the lookout for weird shaped clouds, to tell me you're in trouble and you can look keep your nose to the air for anything that smells like burned chili, I guess… Anyway, CB, I know I don't say it much, but you do mean a lot to me. Thank you for being here for me all the times I've needed you and all the times I've acted like an ass. I don't know where I'd be without you. You're like another mother to me. I hope that's not weird. I hope you get what I mean. I've just lost so many people in my life, I'm not usually so aware of when I gain one, and of everything they give me and are to me. So, thanks. Have a great month or so, and I'll talk to you later. Love, HSM._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 10:57 p.m.

* * *

Blaine blinked back tears. How had he been so lucky to get a friend like HSM exactly when he needed her? It was more than he could have hoped for:

_HSM, _

_Yes, I did my assignment, too. It was disappointing, but as you say, at least it's done. _

_I understand your sentiment completely, and having gotten to know your mom through you, I take it as the highest compliment. Sending enough positive energy and love your way to last until we're in touch again. Love, CB._

Sent on 2/16/12 at 11:41 p.m.

**Track Listing for Vulnerability Week:**

**Artie Abrams - Goin' Down by Mary J. Blige**

**Blaine Anderson - Don't You Remember by Adele**

**Rachel Berry - Torn by Natalie Imbruglia**

**Mike Chang - Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel**

**Tina Cohen-Chang - World on Fire by Sarah McLachlan**

**Sam Evans - Who You Are by Jessie J**

**Quinn Fabray - You've Changed by Etta James**

**Rory Flanagan - The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel**

**Joe Hart - I'm Not Okay I Promise by My Chemical Romance**

**Finn Hudson - I Will Remember You by Sarah McLachlan**

**Kurt Hummel - Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley**

**Mercedes Jones - Crazy by Patsy Cline**

**Santana Lopez - Away From The Sun by 3 Doors Down**

**Sugar Motta - With or Without You by U2**

**Brittany Pierce - Believe by Josh Groban**

**Noah Puckerman - Runaway Train by Soul Asylum**


End file.
